Indigo Prophecy A Novel
by Sorceress Cassandra180
Summary: They say that the world is filled with choices, each with unlimited possibilites. But the hardest choice to make is living with one that was made for you. This I know, it was one that made me a murderer...
1. Prolouge

_**I**NDIGO **P**ROPHECY_

_**A** **N**OVEL_

_By Sorceress Cassandra180_

_Based off the video game by David Cage and Quantic Dream_

**_

* * *

_**

_"**S**OME SAY THE WORLD WILL END IN **F**IRE_

_**S**OME SAY IN **I**CE.."_

**_-Robert Frost_**

* * *

_Things are never quite what they seem. We may_ think _we understand the world around us, but we really only see the outside…_

_What it _**seems**_ to be._

_I used to be just like you._

_I believed in humanity, the newspapers, soap commercials, politics, and history books. _

_But one day the world kicks you in the teeth, and you don't have any choice but to see things the way they _really_ are._

_My name is Lucas Kane. _

_My story is the one where an ordinary guy has something extraordinary happen to him. _

_Maybe it was supposed to happen. Maybe it was my destiny, or my karma, or whatever._

_But I know one thing for sure: _

**Nothing**_ is going to be the same _again_._

_---_

_It all started right here. Where else could it happen? _

_New York, the capital of the universe. The chessboard destiny chose for the last big game._

_I was just another pawn in destiny's game, living my pawn's life..._

_Until that cold, snowy January night, when my life descended into chaos._


	2. A Puppet on a String

_**C**HAPTER I_

_A** P**UPPET ON A** S**TRING_

_**Lucas Kane** _

_**Doc's Diner** _

**_1/26 10:30 P.M._**

**_14˚F_**

I was dreaming. At least I thought I was...

_My mind felt hazy. As if I were numbed to everything, yet at the same time I could slightly feel the sensation of a cold, light breeze that was brushing past my face. Drunkenly I glanced around._

_I could see a deep red door before me, like the door to a bathroom stall. I glanced slightly to my right and left. I could see creamy white, and sea green tiled walls on either side of me. I could feel myself sitting on something, a closed-lid toilet. Was I in the bathroom of some kind? _

Yet at the same time I had the feeling that I was somewhere else. Somewhere far away from that dingy restroom.

_A shadowed room, blacker then the color of the night sky. On the floor were hundreds and hundreds of candles, each perfuming the room with the smell of beeswax. Each casting dark shadows on the walls with an eerie glow. _

_I wasn't alone. Someone else was with me. A figure, a man sitting on a wooden chair amid the small flickering flames. A drawn up hood hid his face, but I didn't need to see it to know that this person, this man wasn't truly … Human._

_But before I could focus any more on this man, I felt another brush of cold wind. The distant caw of a crow whisked me away to the bathroom stall once again._

_I could feel something in my left hand. The handle of something … Lethal. Confused, I glanced down to see what my fingers had wrapped around and had gripped so tightly._

A knife.

_But before I could question why I had a blade in my hand, or even how I got it I felt a lick of fire graze my forearms. The burning was soon followed by an icy cold, piercing pain. I could feel something trickle down my palms as my arms went slack._

_My head bowed down. In the corner of my eye I could see something liquid… Something ruby red drip to the restroom floor._

Had I cut myself? When had that happened?

_But before I could focus on the thoughts the reeled in my head something else caught my attention._

_Footsteps._

_I wasn't alone in the restroom anymore._

_As if in another world, I could hear the sound of someone using one of the urinals outside my stall. Then the sound of zipping pants, and footsteps clicked in the bathroom once again. As soon as they stopped, the sound of rushing water rang clear in the small bathroom. My guess was that same man who had used the urinal had gone to the sink to wash his hands._

_Abruptly, a sharp shock like electricity went through my body. Another shot though my arms. Then a third jolt went through my spine. Each making my bodyshake inconvulsions withoutmy control._

_Random images flew behind my eyes like a movie reel: the flickering beeswax candles, the hooded figure, the bathroom stall, the dark room, the knife in my hand, a crow's empty yellow eyes, blood running down my palms…_

_Suddenly, my head shot up. Everything in my eyesight seemed to flash with light and color, as if someone were adjusting it on a television. Just as my eyes seemed to calmed down, the deep red door to my stall started to creak open. It was slow, making the seconds it took last for decades. _

_Yet all too soon it seemed, the door had opened. At once I could see the back of a gray suited man who stood probably a little shorter then I was before the sink, scrubbing his hands. His thinning blonde hair slicked on his head. _

_As if my body had a will of it's own I could feel myself stand up. As I stood, an image of the hooded man filled my mind. He too was standing up from his chair, he glanced to his left. At once I felt my own neck do the same._

_The hooded man took a jerking step foreword. Suddenly my body followed him, taking a step in the same strange jerking motion. My grip suddenly tighten on the knife. As it did a horrible, gut twisting realization dawned on me._

Oh God… I- I wouldn't…I'd don't want… I've got to stop, right **now**._ I told myself._

_The hooded figure took another jerky step forward, and suddenly my leg forced me to do the same. The man before the sink took no notice. He didn't look up in the mirror to see me walking towards him as if I were... A puppet on a string. It was like he didn't know I was there... _

Stop! _I commanded firmly to my limbs._

_I took another unwilling step foreword, the pounding sound of what sounded like heartbeats in my ears. The man before me still took no notice._

**Stop it! **_My thoughts seemed to yell._

_I had another flash of the hooded figure as he stepped once again. I felt my other leg take a step along with him. It was as if he were controlling my every step. Wanting me to creep behind the man before me that I didn't even know. And he still didn't turn around to see me. My grip on the knife was now as strong as iron. _

**DAMMIT, JUST STOP IT!** _I screamed franticly in my head._

_I was creeping closer and closer to the innocent man before me with every jerky footstep I took. I could hear my silent screaming for it to stop. Either that or for that poor man to turn around. For him to run, yell, scream. Do anything but not just stand there not expecting me to be creeping up behind him with no control of my body, and a knife in my hand._

_I was right behind him now, my screams still not breaking past my throat. The knife had risen above my head, my arms along with it, when finally the man turned around._

In a second that lasted for an eternity, my clouded eyes connected with those of the man before me. His blue eyes shown from behind his glasses, first in confusion, then in horror at what I had raised in my hands. His jaw dropped, whether to cry out from the sudden shock or the horror that he was seeing before him, I would never know.

_I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself. _

_My silent screams were cut off as I lunged forward with the knife. _

_The blade piercing him in the chest near the heart. Crimson liquid seeping from his white shirt. My hands ripped the blade out from his chest. Some of the blood flying onto my face as I pulled out the knife; the sound of metal being ripped from flesh, seemed to sear my ears. _

_I watched him as he stumbled to the side, falling on to the tiled floor. A crack of bone issued as his head hit the tile, echoing in the restroom. Another flash of the hooded man erupted in my mind, looking as if he too were watching the man I had just stabbed fall to the floor._

_The hooded man took a step forward, his hands as if he were the one carrying the knife I held. Suddenly I felt myself step along with him. He took another step, my body followed in suit. _

_Soon I was standing right above the dying man. I could feel myself fall to my knees, just above his waist. I could see an image of the hooded man raising his knife-less hands above his head. I did the same, the knife still in my hand. I could see the hooded man's arms coming down as if he were stabbing the man before me once again. Almost like a reaction this image sent my own arms crashing down, driving the blade deeply into the man's chest. The sound of the blade's steel interring his flesh a second time filled my ear's, echoing sickeningly in my head._

_I could feel his hot blood pumping from this second fatal lunge, I could faintly feel myself yank the blade from his chest a second time. Once again an image of the hooded man filled my mind. As he raised his arms a third time I could feel my arms do the same. This figure sent them plunging down, the blade merging with the bleeding man for a third and final time. I could feel myself rip the blade from him once more. _

_Then I suddenly felt myself lean back, my arms throwing themselves straight on my sides. The knife tumbling from my blood covered fingertips. My face jerking up to the ceiling, arms thrown back; as if I were looking up the heavens like I was expecting them to reveal something. The dying man's slowing heartbeats pounding in my head when something else filled my eyes..._

_**An indigo shadow; infinite, and deep. A shadow that gave me the feeling that it was filled the greatest and most terrible of powers, yet it appeared to be filled with the nothingness of space. Then something seemed to stir from its depths. A pale, young, innocent face of a little girl, looking as if she were lost. Her shoulder length black hair seemed to shine in the depths from some unknown light. She reached out her hand. Her crystal blue eye's seemed to be pleading, begging for a help that only I could provide…**_

At that moment I felt an almighty shudder, and my body lurched forward. Making me fall on my hands and knees. My head was spinning with the images I had just seen. Slowly, I felt my once dulled senses switch onto full alert. Each bringing a slightly stinging pain; as if all my muscles and senses had fallen asleep and had were suddenly tingling awake.

_What kind of dream was that? _I blearily wondered.

But before I could focus on that thought any longer, a strange scent reached my nostrils. An odd coppery one that, for some reason, made my stomach clench and start to writhe. Abruptly, I realized I was hovering just above something. I glanced over then felt like my lung had suddenly been compressed. I jumped up in horror and shock.

Backing away I blinked, hoping that my eyes where just playing tricks on me. That this horrible vision before me was just the product of working too late on the computer, and staying too long under the florescent lighting of the office.

It wasn't a trick.

I looked to my hands; surely enough I could see my bleeding forearms, as well as my fingers soaked with red liquid.

_What- what have I done? _My thought's reeled.

Whatever that strange experience I just had hadn't been a dream, it had been real.

I just killed a man in cold blood in the middle of the restroom.

---

My throat tightened almost to where I almost couldn't breath, as I looked to the dead man; blood pooling around him.

_I-I didn't want… _I thought. _It was like a dream. I watched it all happen like it was happening to someone else. I didn't have control._

I could feel my hands start shaking as I tried to remember where I was. Then the answer came to me like a clap of thunder.

This was the restroom at Doc's Diner. The small fifties style restaurant in the East town that I had stopped by after work for something to eat. A _public_ place, with _other people_, including an _off-duty police officer_ all of whom could walk in here at any moment

_Quick, _I thought, _I've got to get out of here. Before- before someone else comes in here._

I felt a cold breeze suddenly on the side of my face, I glanced over to see a high open window. I went to the window as fast as I could. Could I use it for an escape? I jumped to get a better view. The sight of steel bars beyond the glass greeted me, feeling me with dread.

_It's barred up. If I can't get out this way then that means…_ I felt panic grip my insides at the thought of my only escape.

As I turned to the only exit I had I could plainly see the dead man still laying sprawled on the floor where I had stabbed him. Suddenly I realized something that seemed to twist my stomach with nausea.

It wasn't just the off-duty cop I should be worried about at this moment, but the rest of the NYPD. After all, I had just killed… No, something _made me_ kill a man, it _wasn't my fault_. But they wouldn't believe that, I know that I wouldn't if I had heard a crazy story like this. That was of course before it happened to me.

I had to hide all the clues I could. It was the only way to buy myself sometime, and maybe find out what evil force had made me do this. Only that could prove my innocence. But I had to clean up this mess. The police would most likely search the scene of my 'crime' from top to bottom, and enough evidence pointed to me as it was.

I took a shaky breath as I went to the dead man's side, grabbing him by his deathly cold shoulders. Awkwardly, I half-carried half-dragged the body to a nearby toilet stall. As soon as I drew close to the toilet I closed the lid then propped him up onto the porcelain seat. Making sure that his body leaned against the back of the toilet, I finally stepped back and closed the stall door.

As soon as the door closed I felt a sudden bit of relief pass over me, slightly soothing my panic. I glanced to the floor to see a pool of blood and the line of red made from dragging the man's corpse.

I had to clean that up, and quickly.

Franticly, I looked around, hoping that I could spot something. Another small wave of relief spread through me as I spotted a mop. I grabbed it and turned to the bloody mess.

As quickly as I could, I tried to scrub the tiled floor. To this day I don't know if it was from the adrenaline that ran in my veins or from the growing fear of what could happen if someone where to walk in on me, but it was as if I had developed sudden inhuman speed. In no time at all, I had the mess mopped up as best as I could.

I had set the mop where I had found it when the glint of dangerous steel caught the corner of my eye near the two urinals on the left wall. I walked over to see what it was.

_The knife._

I snatched up the bloody blade, and looked around. I had to get rid of it. I had to hide it somewhere, anywhere. I couldn't take it with me. I glanced around until spotting a space big enough to hide the weapon.

Quickly, I went to it and crammed the knife into that hiding place. As soon as I felt it leave my fingers I knew I could breath easy.

I brushed my hands together for a job well taken care of, then glanced at the mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My normally tan face as white as a sheet, my brown eyes looking haunted and troubled, my dark hair which was normally slicked back was a bit of a mess. But that wasn't all. Spots of red liquid dotted my cheeks and forehead. I looked down to my blood spattered shirt, hands, and forearms which were stinging fiercely as red trickled from where I had cut them

_I can't go out in to the dining room of the restaurant looking like this,_ I thought, quickly approaching the sinks. _The last thing I want is to cause a commotion._

Once I stood before the sink, I quickly turned the knob. Making cold water poured from the tap. I wrenched my hands under the icy bust, scrubbing my palms and fingers as best as I could. Then I let the cold water run over my stinging forearms, numbing them to the pain a bit. Once the blood had washed away from my cuts I could see something that sent a chill snaking down my spine.

I hadn't just slit my forearms, I had carved a symbol in them.

It looked like some sort of serpent. A serpent with two open jaws, and… was that? Yes it was. This serpent had two heads, one on either end of it's body.

_What does this mean?_ I wondered briefly, but quickly decided to worry about it when I had the time.

I cupped my hands under the running water, and splashed my face. Trying to wash all the blood off, and hopefully wash away the nausea that curled in my stomach. Quickly I yanked down the sleeves of the dark bluish-green jacket that I still wore on my shoulders, and buttoned it up; hiding the blood on my forearms and gray shirt. Looking up to the mirror one last time, I checked for any more traces of blood on my face. Seeing none, I turned off the tap and shook my hands to dry them.

Taking a shaky breath, I walked to the door of the restroom and pushed it open. As soon as I stepped through the door I could see that nothing seemed to have alarmed the other customers, the pink uniformed waitress, or the off duty cop that she chatted with at the bar. In fact, if anyone else had walked in at that moment they would of thought it a normal fifties restaurant. No one would expect this place with it's black and white tiled floors, booths, several neon lights, crome tables and bar to be the place where something horrible would happen.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying their food, or chatting about this current cold front that had settled over Manhattan. They didn't knew then what I had just done, and I only hoped that they wouldn't know for a little while longer.

I looked over to the right to see a fire escape door, an alarmed poised above it. Next to it was _a pay phone_.

I practically ran to the phone, and snatched up the receiver as if my very sanity at that moment depended on it. After dropping several quarters into the slot, I dialed the one number that I knew I could count on. I listened to the two dial tones that greeted my call, at first. Then I could hear a familiar voice as the answering machine picked up my call:

**"Hello, you've reached Markus Kane. I'm not in right now, but please leave a message after the tone."**

As I listened to the _**beep **_of the answering machine, I started feeling really stupid. What on earth was I going to say to a brother I hadn't seen in years? It wasn't like I could call him one day and say: 'Hi Markus, it's your long lost brother. How are you? Fine? That's good news. Oh, how am _I _doing? Not very well if you want to know. I just _killed a man_ while I was under some sort of trace, and there's a cop in the restaurant with me whose bound to find out anytime now. But anyway, how about this weather we're having?'

_Doing that to Markus isn't right,_ I decided. _Not after all he's done for me._

Not thinking twice, I hung up the telephone without uttering a single syllable.

With a loss of what to do on my shoulders, I trudged to my booth and sat down. As I sat I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked over to see the cop looking straight at me. From his face I could tell he had to be around fifty, with a graying mustache. His graying hair peeking from his police hat, and drawn up hood from the NYPD parka he was wearing. His eyes studied me, as if he knew that there was something strange in me but the waitress said something and his gaze turned back to her.

From that look the cop had given me, I knew I had to act as inconspicuous as I could. At least until I was able to leave.

I turned to my order of steak and fries. Seeing food before me I realized I had to try to eat something. After all, I hadn't touched anything edible since breakfast. I took up my fork and speared a bite of steak and forked it into my mouth. The bite felt strange in my mouth, and went down like I was swallowing a rock. I could feel my stomach get even more nauseous then before.

Gingerly, I grabbed my cup of whatever soft drink I had ordered and took a sip. It felt like I was drinking acid as went down, burning my still tightened throat. But I took at least several more sips, and several more bites of food. Trying to get something in my stomach in hopes of calming it, and to try to get my mind off of that _horrible _act I had so unwillingly commited. I glanced up to (thankfully) see the bill laying on my table, and… Was that another cup?

Yes it was, a mug half filled with coffee.

At once every part of me to my very core seemed to be chilled by the sight of that simple mug sitting at my table. I knew I hadn't ordered _that_. I _never_ drink coffee, I hate it. So why was it here on my table? Had someone else sat here with me?

I racked my brain trying to remember, but it was like the memory was falling into quicksand. No matter how hard I fought against it I couldn't find the memory that seemed to sink into deeper my unconsciousness. My stare was still on that cup of coffee, as I reached for the bill. I glanced to the bill, at once my hands start to shake.

_The coffee wasn't on the bill._

_Someone **was** here with me, _I quickly concluded. _But who was it? And why can't I remember?_

In the corner of my eye I could see the off-duty cop fidget a bit in his seat by the bar, making me jump. He turned to me suddenly, raising an eyebrow as if he had seen my sudden panic. But he didn't seem to be turning to the bathroom.

_I have to get out of here, _I quickly decided. _**Now.**_

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the amount of bills for the check and the tip, and set them on the table. I stood up, and calmly walked to the door. Once I stood before it I pushed it open, and set off into the snowy night.

At first, I walked calmly across the street, my shoes crunching the snow beneath them. Then I ran. I ran like the hounds of hell were biting at my ankles, not daring to look back. I ran until I spotted a taxi driving down the street.

I raised my hand, at once the taxi stopped. Quickly I yanked the door open, and leapt into the backseat.

"Uh, Brooklyn, please," I told the taxi driver, a bit out of breath.

It was too dark to see his face, but I could see him nod to me. At once he slightly hit the gas, driving the cab down the street at a moderate speed due to the snow and sleet. But as the cab passed Doc's Diner, I could see through the glass door that the cop was no longer in his seat buy the bar.

I let my face fall into my hands.

At the time, I didn't know of the investigation that would soon take place. I didn't know that the next few days of my life would become a living hell. And I certainly didn't know that I had left something behind that would bring two detectives onto my trail; or that someone had been watching me in the shadows of a nearby building, knowing what had just happened to me and why.

All that I knew was everything from that moment on would be different. My life would_**never**_ be the same now that I had unwillingly taken someone else's, and nothing I could do could change that.

The only thing I knew was I_ had_ to find out the truth of what had just happened to me. I just had to know why. Why did that man have to die? Why did it have to be me who killed him?

I just hoped that finding my answers it would be far more easier then it sounded.

Now, looking back, I know it was just false hope to think so.

* * *

Some say that once you've been a soldier of justice, a cop on the police force for so long you seem to develop an instinct. Almost like a second sense about certain types of people. That you can tell from the look in their eyes when they're in trouble or causing trouble. 

Maybe this was why veteran Officer Martin McCarthy, who sat at the counter drinking his coffee, had looked up from his small chat with the waitress Kate Morrison. His senses abruptly switched on to full alert.

At first he wondered why. He was off-duty, and at his favorite place to stop by after a hard day at work to drink some of the best coffee beans in the East Town of Manhattan. Who could possibly be here to hurt anyone? Who would want to hurt anyone in a place such as this small diner?

It was then he saw someone in the corner of his eye. Officer Martin turned his head to see someone who made his police instinct kick into over-drive.

It was a man trudging to his booth near the windows, he sat down like he wore a weight on his shoulders. Quickly, McCarthy studied him, trying to get his description etched into his memory for when he dropped by the station. He looked to be in his early thirties with dark hair, dark eyes, and a tanned face.

Suddenly, almost as if he could feel the officers eyes on him the man looked up to McCarthy. Even at the distance Martin was he could see a mixture of guilt, sadness, and (as he looked to the cop) fear. A mixture that had made his face quite pale.

"Martin? You okay?" Spoke Kate with a thick uptown accent.

She had seen something flicker in the eyes of her friend, something that she had only seen in the eyes of the Officers who are on the job. That foreboding look like they _knew_ something dangerous would happen.

"What?" McCarthy said, turning to his friend the waitress. Suddenly he realized what she was asking.

"Oh, Don't worry. I'm fine," He said reassuring his old friend.

At once they returned to the chat they were having about their families. Kate asked Martin how his son John was. Remembering how he and his son used to come here when he was a boy, he replied that John was fine with smile.

The two continued their chat about this and that, until he looked to his wristwatch his wife, and son had given him for his fifty-second birthday. It read 10:59.

_Wow it's late, _Martin thought. _I probably better get home sometime soon._

Although his wife Jane was a veteran in the police force as well, and understood what it was to have late night off duty he still wanted to make it back to her at least before twelve. He fidgeted a bit in his seat, trying to get feeling back in his leg which had fallen asleep the past few minutes he sat there.

In the corner of his eye he saw the man seem to jump suddenly, as if afraid that McCarthy would move from the stool that he now sat at. Martin looked to the man one more time, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

_Why does he look so tense every time I move? _Officer McCarthy wondered. _It's almost as if he's afraid I'll do something._

He watched the man suddenly pull out a wad of bills, and without even counting if he had the right amount of change left the wad on the table. The man then got up, and walked to the door calmly, although Martin thought that he looked like he was about to be sick.

As soon as the door shut behind him, McCarthy turned to Kate.

"Do you know who that guy was?" He asked casually. "I've never really seen him around before."

"You mean that guy who just left?" Kate asked, tucking a wisp of her dark brown hair under her pink cap that matched her uniform.

Officer McCarthy nodded.

"Can't say I do, Martin," She said pulling out rag to wipe the bar, her shift what near over and it was the last thing she had to do before clearing the tables.

Curiously she turned to the hardened cop.

"Why?" She asked. "Ya know him?"

"No, just asking," He replied simply.

_No need to worry her about it, _Martin thought quietly. _After all, he probably just had a bad day at work and was feeling troubled about it. Besides Kate's probably seen more suspicious characters around here_.

He took the last sip of his still steaming coffee, and sat the cup on the counter. Once she saw that he was done, the waitress turned to Martin.

"You ready for your bill?" She asked.

"Yes, I will be," McCarthy said, standing up from his stool. "Could you get it ready for me? I'll be back, I just need to use the restroom before I get ready to go home."

"Consider it taken care of, Martin," Kate replied, with a knowing smile as she went to the cash register to calculate the bill.

Martin started his walk to the restroom, like he had several times before. But something was different. It was if he where almost expecting something to happen. He shook his head.

_Maybe Jane was right,_ He thought shaking his head as he drew closer to the door of the restroom. _Maybe we both should start considering an early retirement._

He casually opened the door and stepped into the restroom. Suddenly his eyes went to the floor where an odd red mark seem to stain the tile, leading to one of the toilet stalls. Martin took a step closer to investigate. Now with a closer look he felt his heart jump to his throat, he knew what that red was that stained the tile. He had seen it all to often on the streets.

_Blood._

Cautiously, he walked to the stall where the red mark seemed to lead to. All the while noticing how the blood looked like it had been mopped, and accidentally missed.

He felt his throat tightening as he stood before the door to the stall. Hesitantly, he reached out and pushed the door to the stall. The deep red door slowly creaked open to reveal the one thing he had feared.

A man, another regular in Doc's Diner seemingly propped on the toilet. Crimson staining the white shirt of his gray suit.

At once all thought of why he was in the restroom left him as he quickly started going through the number of people who had went to the restroom while this regular had gone as well. One face flashed in his memory with startling clarity.

_The young man he had spied earlier!_

Quickly, Martin ran out the door of the restroom as if to chase that young man. But he knew it was already too late. The man had disappeared into the snowy night. So there was only one thing to do now.

"No one goes anywhere!" He quickly proclaimed to the rest of the diner.

The other customers, and Kate looked to McCarthy questioningly until he spoke the words that no one in Doc's Diner had expected in a thousand years to hear.

"A very serious crime has just been committed. I'm going to have to ask you all to stay calm, and wait for the police to arrive and check your ID's"


	3. Murder Site Investigation

_**C**HAPTER II_

_**M**URDER **S**ITE **I**NVESTIGATION_

_**Carla Valenti**_

_**Doc's Diner**_

_**1/27 1:12 A.M.**_

_**14˚ F**_

I gave another sigh as I looked to the rearview mirror. My own hazel-brown eyes staring back at me. Looking exhausted from another late night, on-call. Meanwhile I could see through the back window, snow seem to fall hurriedly around the car as we drove past the many apartments and shops of East Town. Almost as if it had a place where it needed to be as badly as I did. A lock of my dark brown hair fell across my face as the car slowed to a stop, pulling up next to a small restaurant. I quickly pushed the stray lock to the side as I turned to the window on my side of the car.

"There it is," spoke my partner, Tyler Miles, as he shut off the ignition and pocketed his car keys. "Doc's Diner. That's the one."

I nodded, looking at the small restaurant. Already from the looks of the small yet classic way the place seemed to be I knew that Tyler was right. After all, there was no mistaking the darkness the had fallen onto the usually light diner. I was just about to get out of the car when, a voice spoke.

"Hey Carla, I've got a question for ya," Tyler spoke suddenly, making me turn to him.

From his dark brown face anyone could tell that he must have been a year or so younger then myself. Even his dark eyes seemed to sometimes have that look to them like he was even younger then what he really was. Yet, Tyler probably stood a foot taller then me, and if you had seen him on the street you would never know that he was a cop. Especially with his choice of tie-died shirts, braided dark hair he usually had to wear up, and with his history of growing up in the Bronx.

Even I admit he is unpredictable. So I didn't really know what to expect when I nodded for him to go on.

"Why they always wait for _me_ to go on duty before they start _killing each other_ in the _middle of the night_?" He asked me with a bit of a groan.

I shook my head, and tried my hardest not to roll my eyes. Don't get me wrong, Tyler's a good guy. But if I have learned anything about him over the year that we've been partners is this pretty important fact: once he starts on his rants (and asks these type of questions) you just have to either grit your teeth and pretend you're listening, or actually give a reasonable answer.

This time I chose to give an answer.

"Tyler," I said with a sigh, opening the door.

At once the cold air outside seared through me, despite the tan jacket, gray and magenta turtle-neck sweater, and pants that I wore.

"Someone gets murdered _everyday_ in New York," I continued to say

I stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind me. Already I could feel my teeth start chattering. Not long after me, Tyler opened his door and stepped out into the snowy street.

"Yeah, but especially when _I'm _on night duty." He replied tiredly, as he shut the door. "It's like every _psychopath_ in the city has it out for _me_."

This time I didn't bother to stop myself, I just rolled my eyes. Ever now and then, I would get the feeling that the reason why Captain Jones partnered up Tyler and me was to give me the little brother I never had. And this was one of those times.

I leaned against the car, my arms folding atop each other on its roof as I told him simply, "If _you_ wanna bitch, then do it inside so _I _don't have to _freeze to death_ **listening** to it."

Tyler gave a chuckle. His tiredness lifted for a short while.

"You're the boss, Carla," He admitted.

I nodded as if to say, _And_ _don't you forget it!_ But at the same time I couldn't help but give a grin, as I stepped away from the car. Letting my arms fall to my sides, I turned to the diner.

Now on my five years on the force I've seen some murders. But you never really get used to death. You just…

You just learn to live with it, that's all.

I still don't know if it was cold, fatigue, or something else. But I clearly remember that bad feeling I got as I laid eyes onto that restaurant.

Like a part of me already knew that, this time, things would be different.

---

I walked up to the door to the diner, Tyler right behind me with a pencil and a pad of paper to take notes on whatever we found. Wanting to get out of this cold, I quickly pushed open the door. Tyler coming in right behind me.

At once I was greeted by the smell of coffee, French fries, and hot fudge sundaes'. But at the same time I could feel a tense atmosphere. An atmosphere that sent a strange tingle up my spine, as if to tell me something very wrong happened here not to long ago.

Looking around I quickly saw the veteran officer who Captain Jones told us to speak to, sitting at the counter. A fresh steaming mug of coffee in front of his weary face, looking like he was older then just fifty.

"How's it going McCarthy?" I asked him.

At the sound of my voice Martin quickly turned to me.

"Evening, Inspector. I've been waiting for you," He said, getting up from his seat to speak to me.

He glanced over to Tyler who now stood on my left.

"Hey Tyler," He said with a nod to him.

"Hey Martin," Tyler said with a nod back, before he started to take a look around.

Martin turned back to me as I quickly decided, _Time to get to business._

"So," I started casually. "What happened here? Captain Jones didn't really have time to explain when he called."

"A Homicide," Martin replied simply. "I found the body in the toilets. I had to go before I went home."

_McCarthy found the body?_ I thought, cocking an eyebrow.

"What where you doing here?" I asked, curiously. "Were you on duty?"

Martin shook his head.

"I wasn't, I just happened to be here when the murder happened." He replied casually.

I was about to ask what he was doing here this late when, Martin simply added.

"I like to come by here after work. The food is pretty good, and Kate's coffee is the best in the East Town. Especially after a day like this one."

I gave him a look of understanding. _Especially since the crime rate has gone up these past few days_, I added quietly. Why else had we been on call-these past few nights?

"Do we have a suspect so far?" I continued to ask.

Martin nodded. "A client left just before I found the body. I think this was his first time here, I know I've never seen him before."

I glanced over to see Tyler standing nearby, jotting this down on a piece of paper. He looked up me, and nodded.

"Who is the victim?" I continued to ask.

"His name was John Winston," McCarthy replied. "A regular here at the diner."

He motioned over his shoulder.

"Kate knew him. She could tell you more."

I looked over to where he had motioned to see a women sitting at one of the booths. She must have been in her mid or late forties, since she had a bit of a worn look to her but in a nice way of course. Even at the distance I was, I could see her bubble gum pink waitress uniform, including a matching hat.

Glancing back to Martin I spoke again.

"Is that the waitress over there?" I asked, motioning to her with my hand.

Martin gave a nod.

"Yeah, Kate Morrison," He replied. "I think you should interrogate her. But- if you don't mind me saying- go easy on her, Inspector. She's still in a state of shock."

"Alright," I nodded. "Don't worry about that Martin. Can you tell me which table the suspect was sitting at?"

Martin turned to point a few booths down from the waitress where, even at a distance I could see that the table had yet to be cleaned.

"He was sitting at that table, over there," He told me.

_All right, I'll take a look after I question the waitress. _I quickly decided._ In the meantime Kate really does look like she should go home a get some rest. So does Martin._

Even now, I could see McCarthy's eyelids start to droop a bit even thoughtI had the impression that he had been drinking cup after cup of coffee since he found the body.

"Thanks for your help, Martin," I told him, genuinely meaning it. "It's late, I think you can go home and get some sleep."

Martin nodded, showing he was glad to finally get out of here for the night, but he didn't move for the door. Instead he spoke.

"I'm going to wait until your done questioning Kate, if you don't mind. I wanna see if she makes it home okay."

I gave a bit of a nod.

"All right, I'll try to be quick." I told him.

McCarthy gave me a bit of a weary nod, but I could tell from the look on his face that he was grateful. Martin sat down on his stool that he had been before, as I took another deep breath and walked to the waitress' booth.

The closer I got, the more I noticed the shock that seemed to sting the air around her. Hands covered her face, and I could see her shake a bit even though it was quite warm in this small diner.

Remembering Martin's advice, I knew I had to be as understanding as I could. Something that wasn't very hard since I had to put up with the shock of death on a daily basis. Besides she's been though enough already tonight, the last thing Kate needed was to have a cop barking questions at her.

I took a seat across from her at the booth.

"Kate?" I spoke softly.

The waitress lowered her hands. Even after all this time, I could still see the shock that glittered in her eyes.

Kate looked to me unsure until I told her, "I'm Inspector Carla Valenti. I'm in charge of the investigation. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Kate swallowed hard, yet she shook her head.

"No," she said softly. "Go ahead."

Still seeing the shock in her eyes I decided to start by asking questions about something else first. I don't really know why, but it really seems to comfort shocked witnesses when you start asking about something else then work your way to asking the questions on what's the most important.

"Have you been working here long Kate?" I asked gently.

Kate took a deep breath but simply said, "It'll be eleven year next mouth."

I could see her shaking lessen slightly as she continued.

"I've see all sorts in here. Down and outers, junkies, you name it I might have see it around here. The diner's been robbed a few times, but murder…"

She shook her head, I could see that she still trembled as she attempted to put on a brave face.

"That's a new one."

Kate looked down to her hands, as she spoke softly.

"Poor John, he was such a nice guy."

"Did you know the victim well?" I asked, concerned.

Kate gave a bit of a nod.

"John was a regular here," The waitress said simply. "Came here every Monday. Always ordered the same thing, and left a nice tip."

I nodded my understanding. Knowing that if she knew John as well as I'm sure she did I would have to ask my questions as gently as I could. Not to make her even more upset then she already was.

"And the suspect, what about him?" I asked, carefully.

"He was just a normal guy," Kate seemed to cry out slightly. "I-I didn't pay much attention to him."

I could see that had unsettled her a bit, and I didn't blame her. But I had to keep asking as many questions as I could to find this man.

"What was he like, Kate?" I inquired. "Do you think you could describe him for me?"

"I only saw him for a few seconds," She told me. "I'd say he was about average height… Fairly young…"

Kate covered her face with a hand.

"That's all I can remember." Said her muffled voice.

"What was the man doing?" I asked curiously.

The waitress lowered her hand, a look crossed her face, like she was trying to remember. But it didn't surprise me, shock can do that to you.

"He was there for a while," Kate said simply. "He was reading, I think."

I nodded. _I'll have to look around the table and see if he left something behind_, I thought; silently making a self memo. Quickly I decided to ask questions, to see what kind of motive we might have here.

"Did it seem that John and the suspect knew each other?" I asked.

"No," Kate replied, shaking her head. "The man had already been here awhile when John came in. They didn't talk to each other. No… I'm almost certain that John didn't know him."

I nodded, mentally eliminating the possibility that our suspect must have had a past with John.

"Do you know if the victim had any enemies?" I said carefully. "Anyone who… Might want to kill him?"

"John was just a **nice**, _**normal**_ guy," Kate said, a bit of pain and sadness in her voice. "I can't see anyone would want to kill him."

_Hmm,_ I thought quietly. _Then whoever this was that killed John may not be the usual killer._

"Could someone else have come in?" I quickly asked.

Kate shook her head.

"No, you can only get in through the front door," She said, letter a hand go to her forehead. "It someone would have come in then I would have seen them."

I looked to her, leaning forward slightly.

"Do you notice anything strange before the murder?" I wondered.

Once again the waitress shook her head.

"No," Kate said. "It was a night like any other."

_Odd, _I couldn't help but think. But I had several more questions to ask. A few that might be a bit painful for her, but I had to know to really get a good start on looking for the killer.

"Did you hear anything while John was in the toilets?" I asked her carefully. "Sound of a struggle? Or yelling?"

"No," Kate said softly. "I didn't notice anything."

I took a deep breath, I needed to know more. A lot more then just this.

"Can you tell me what you saw?" I asked gently.

Kate took a shaky breath, then she started to speak in a slight trembling voice.

"There wasn't that many people tonight. It's usually really calm during the week. My shift was almost over, and I was just chatting with Martin at the bar."

She motioned to McCarthy, who still sat at the counter. Drinking his coffee looking as if he where deep in thought.

"I-I didn't even see John get up…"

At once I could see tears start to fill Kate's dark brown eyes. The memory must have been too much for her. A hand went to her face.

"Oh _God_…" I could hear her mutter in a shaky voice.

Quickly I knew I had to try to be a voice of comfort. It was the least I could do, to keep asking her these questions.

"You have to try to be strong, Kate," I tried to cheer her up her in a soft voice. "I know that this has been a shock for you, but you are the only one who can help us find the suspect."

The waitress took several more shaky, deep breaths; like she were thinking about what I had just said. I waited patiently until Kate finally regained her courage to speak.

"My shift was almost over. I was just chatting with Martin at the bar," Kate told me. "John got up, and went the restroom. The man must have followed him, and he must have sneaked out afterward because I didn't even see him leave."

"What happened next?"

"Martin went to the restroom, and that's where he found John..." Kate said, trailing off.

I had only few more questions left.

"Did you happen to notice anything strange about John tonight?" I asked her. "Did he seem worried about anything?"

Kate shook her head.

"No, he was just as he always was." She told me, a sudden bit of a sad smile went across her face as she added. "He-he even made a joke when he came in."

"And the suspect? Did you notice anything strange about **his** behavior before he went into the restroom?"

Kate paused for a while.

"No, not…"

Suddenly, realization flashed on her face.

"W-wait, _yes._ I remember something." Kate spoke up suddenly. "I came back at one point, just to see if he needed anything. He didn't answer me! He just stared _straight ahead_ with a blank look in his eye, it was weird. I didn't push it. I thought that maybe this guy was a little crazy."

It was strange, but I could plainly feel that cold feeling I had earlier suddenly hit my blood and bone. A feeling that made my stomach turn.

Meanwhile the waitress buried her face in her hands.

"God," I could hear her mumble. "If I had only known…"

Trying my best to ignore this strange feeling I asked one last question.

"Do you think you could recognized the suspect?"

The waitress lower her hands. Eyes set with determination, even as her shoulders seem to shake a bit.

"I'll _never_ forget that face," She told me solemnly.

I felt a bit of that determination that I usually got when I felt I was going somewhere with a case, start to course through me. All but drowning out the strange coldness that seemed to be inside.

"Perfect," I replied. "Could you come by the station, and help us construct a likeness of the killer?"

The waitress nodded, eager to help.

"Yeah," She said. "I'll do whatever you think I can to help catch him."

"Thank you so very much for your help, Kate," I said to her.

She nodded. The shock in her eyes now replaced with a bit of anger.

"I hope you find that _bastard_ who did it," She told me bitterly. "People who do things like this just don't deserve to live."

Silently I agreed with her.

"I promise you, we'll do everything in our power to find him." I vowed to her.

In the corner of my eye I could see Martin stand up from his stool, with a look he seemed to ask if I was done with my interrogation. I gave a slight nod, and quickly he started walking to our booth.

"Now I suggest you go home and get some sleep," I told Kate. "Martin will make sure you get home okay."

Martin stopped at Kate's side and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to him and nodded that she was ready to leave. Kate slid out of the booth and went to the counter where her long purple jacket laid on the counter, and pulled it over her shoulder.

I watched the waitress and McCarthy walk out the door, trying to ignore the strange chill that I had up and down my spine.

* * *

_**Tyler Miles**_

I loosened up my thick winter jacket that I wore over my favorite blue tie-died shirt, trying to keep myself awake while I jotted down the last bit of what Martin has told us. Glancing over at the booths, I could see Carla as she spoke to the waitress that Martin had been talking about earlier. Every now and then I would notice something flash in my partner's eyes. A look that really gave me the creeps because I never really seen it in her eye. A look I saw kids have when I grew up in the Bronx.

Fear.

But, then again I figured I was just seeing things. You'd be too if you hadn't gotten_ any_ sleep while on-call the past few nights.

It's not so funny now when I think about it. But, back then, we didn't know much. We just thought it was another cold day in NYC, ya know.

If I had known, I would have stayed in bed that night. Not have gotten out until it was all over.

That's the problem, if we knew ahead of time what was gonna happen we'd be too scared to ever leave the house.

Yeah, even you.

---

As soon as Martin and Kate left for the night (and after I said good-night). I walked over to Carla to see what she had come up with. I quickly noticed that familiar determination look on her face.

"Got any solid Intel?" I asked her.

"Sort of," Carla replied. "We'll really need to look around if we really want to find anything concrete though."

At this I couldn't help but shake my head.

That's Carla for you, the workaholic. She's really something though. She may not be easy to get along with at times since she can be so gung-ho about things, but she's the best damn cop I know.

Carla glanced over to the two CSI Detectives. Both of the guys I recognized quickly from the station. One of them was Garret. A man who had to be in his late thirties with short brown hair, and brown eyes. The other who was sat at the counter wearing his usual CSI cap, and black mustache was Frank. I quickly knew what Carla was going to say next.

"I'm going to go ask Garret and Frank what they've found out so far," She said. "Hopefully we'll be able to get more of a solid start on this case."

"Alright," I said wearily. "I'm gonna go take a look at our boy's table, and see if I can find anything."

Carla gave a short nod.

"I'll be with you in a minute," She said before turning around and walking over to our friends in CSI.

I gave a bit of a yawn as I shuffled over to the booth that Martin had been talking about awhile earlier.

I knew that Carla would be really checking the table out later (and probably order the seat stripped in search of clues). But I admit, I was curious even though I was dead on my feet. I mean, this guy killed someone in a diner with other people just several feet away, and nobody noticed it. Wouldn't you be curious?

_Well, _I thought as I stopped before the booth, _Martin said this was the guys table._

I pried my eyes open to see what we had here.

At once I looked at the two cups of whatever he had gotten to drink, then I glanced at food on the plate. A cold steak and bunch of fries still sat there, barely even touched (_Guess he wasn't that hungry,_ I thought to myself). A fork was next to the plate and… Wait a minute. Where was the knife? I mean, steak isn't the type of food that you'd cut up with a fork.

I scratched my head through my beanie, glanced around for it. I was also dozing off a bit I guess, when I felt a tap on my shoulder that made me jump. I turned around to see Carla, looking at me with a cocked eyebrow. I guess I was half expecting her to give me her usual lecture but instant she spoke.

"You want some coffee, Tyler?" She asked. "Because, no offense, but you really look like you need it."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I probably better, it may be the only thing that can keep me awake."

"A coffee pot's on, over the counter." Carla told me.

"Thanks," I said with another yawn.

Man, was I tired.

I shuffled over the steaming pot, and grabbed a clean mug that sat nearby. I pulled the pot out of its maker, and tipped the pot over the cup. As soon as the hot coffee hit the bottom of the mug I felt a bit more awake. After putting the pot back in it's maker, I took a sip of the hot coffee.

It took several more sips for the caffeine to finally kick in. It wasn't enough to keep me awake all night. But enough to keep me up a bit longer.

Over my shoulder I could hear Carla tell Garret to check something that was near the table. I glanced over to see her near the suspect's booth, on her hands and knees as Garret tried to brush something off the seat into a CSI clear bag.

I shook my head. How did she do it? Several night's on-call and Carla's acting as if she had all the sleep in the world.

_I really need to find out how the hell she does it_, I thought as I turned back to my cup of coffee.

* * *

_**Carla Valenti**_

As soon as Kate and Martin walked thought the door I could feel those usual unasked questions buzz in my ear. Questions that could only be answered by looking around the suspect's booth, and the scene of the crime itself.

I looked over to see Tyler walk over to me, looking even more exhausted then when we first walked through the door.

"Got any solid Intel?" He asked, as he walked over to me.

"Sort of," I told him.

_If you count a strange suspect and a vague motive,_ I thought to myself.

"We'll really need to look around if we really want to find anything concrete though." I quickly added.

In the corner of my eye I could see Tyler shake his head, as I looked over to the two CSI detectives, Frank and Garret.

_Wonder if they found anything else that could help our investigation._ I thought quietly.

"I'm going to go ask Garret and Frank what they've found out so far," I said turning back to my partner. "Hopefully we'll be able to get more of a solid start on this case."

"Okay," Tyler said in a weary voice. "I'm gonna go take a look at our boy's table, and see if I can find anything."

I nodded

"I'll be with you in a minute," I replied, as I turned to Garret and Frank.

As soon as I started walking to the two CSI investigators, they looked up at me from the conversation.

"Hey Garret, Hey Frank," I said to the two men. "How's it going?"

"Hey Carla," Garret nodded, politely.

"Hey Carla," Frank said with a bit of a smile.

"So, what's going on?" I asked casually.

"Well, we've took some samples here and there," Garret told me. "We're almost finished. We where just waiting for you in case you wanted us to test anything else, and before we took the body away."

"Okay," I replied. "I'll tell you if I need anything, meanwhile I'm going to take a look around."

The two men nodded and went back to the conversation they were having earlier. I turned back over to the suspect's table where Tyler stood. As soon as I saw him I shook my head. He seemed to almost be asleep on his feet. I noticed how far foreword he seemed lean.

I walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. Tyler gave a bit of a jump before he turned to me. I admit, I almost laughed at the exhausted and guilty look on his face. I guess he was expecting me to tell him off, because he looked pretty surprised when I asked him a simple question.

"You want some coffee, Tyler? Because, no offense, but you really look like you need it."

"Yeah," He said in a tired voice. "I probably better, it may be the only thing that can keep me awake."

"A coffee pot's on, over the counter." I informed him.

"Thanks," Tyler said with a bit of a yawn.

As he walked away from me, I turned to the booth. Glancing at the table before me.

Several minutes ago a man sat here, a man who may have killed someone. There had to be something that could point us to who he was.

I looked over the table, looking over his meal and quickly one thing caught my eye. His fork was sitting next to his plate, but where was his steak knife? He was, after all, eating a steak. Could that have been the murder weapon?

I made a silent mental note to remember that when looking at the crime scene, after all he may have just hid it there before leaving.

I continued looking at the table before me, trying to find something else our of the ordinary. At once I saw it. A white mug half full with coffee, sat on the table next to a cup of some sort of soda. I raised an eye brow.

_A cup of coffee **and** a soft drink? Now that's **weird**, _I thought. _He's a caffeine addict or …_

_He wasn't alone._

Quickly, I looked to the check. As I skimmed through what it read, I saw something that sent my instincts into over drive.

_Well, well, well, the coffee's not on the bill._

I turned to Garret.

"Garret, can you make sure that both the soft drink glass, _and_ the coffee cup both get tested for prints."

He nodded.

"I'll make sure to grab them on my way out."

I gave him a bit of a smile then turned back to the booth. I stepped the side a bit to see if the killer had left anything on his seat. I then spied something. Was that…?

I leaned foreword to get a better look. But there was no mistaking the familiar bits of dried deep red that seemed to have dripped onto the seat.

_Traces of blood._

_The killer was at this table. _I quickly decided. _He came back and sat down after the murder._

"Garret," I called over my shoulder as I stood up straight. "There are traces of blood in this booth."

"Hang on," Garret said, I could hear him get some of his CSI equipment before he walked up to my side. "Where did you see it?"

I pointed to the seat where the blood had dried, and stepped back to let Garret gently wipe the blood with a small brush into a CSI bag.

As I stepped away, I could swear I saw something under the table. I bent down to see what it was.

There lying open before me, apparently forgotten, was a book.

I could feel a strange jolt, like when you instinctively know you've found an important piece of a puzzle. Getting onto my hands and knees, I moved in closer to get a better look. On the top margins I could dimly read the books name and author.

_The Tempest by Shakespeare? _I couldn't help but wonder. _If this is his then it pretty **weird** book for a **killer** to be reading._

"You find something else, Carla?" I could hear Garret ask me from above the table.

"Yeah, there's a book under this table," I said, crawling out from under the booth and standing up to face him. "Why don't you check it out for prints."

"Alright," He said as he sealed the plastic bag. "Will do Carla."

I stepped away so he could bend down for another piece of evidence. As I did I glanced to the back of the diner.

I quickly noticed a back door, an emergency exit also I guessed. I walked to it to get a better look. Could the killer have simply walked out the back door after he killed that man?

Then I noticed an alarm poised above the door, ready to go off if anyone where to even push the door to go outside. I quickly dismissed that notion, and looked over. It was then I saw a pay phone on the front wall of the diner.

_Hmm._

"Frank," I said turning to him, since he still sat by the bar. "Can you verify all the calls made on this phone tonight?"

"You got it Carla," He said, scribbling it on his pad of paper.

Just then Tyler walked out from behind the counter. I could tell from the way his eyelids didn't droop, that he felt a bit more awake then when he first walked in.

"Better?" I asked.

"You know me Carla," Tyler said with a shrug. "It'll work for the first five minutes then I'll be another zombie."

I just shook my head, and motioned to the restroom door. Where the body was still left, and where the scene of the murder had taken place.

"Shall we?" Tyler said, reaching for the door handle that would lead us to the crime scene.

---

One of the thing's I've noticed when you're a detective was how the room of a murder seems different then others. Like the air itself has died with the person that had been killed. But this scene was different.

I felt a sudden chill as I stepped into the restroom, like I had felt a brush of cold wind tickle my neck and spine. A wind that didn't seem to come from the small barred window. In the corner of my eye I could see Tyler glancing around.

"No trace of a struggle," He noted. "Guess the guy was taken totally by surprise."

I nodded. It did seem like nothing out of the ordinary had happened here. No visible blood stains or anything else.

Until you saw it.

There propped up on a toilet, in the middle stall of three was the body of a man. He wore a gray work suit, with a black tie, and a white shirt stained red with blood. With his thinning blonde hair and glasses I guessed he had to be around his mid or late thirties.

I got a bit closer, bending down to get a better look at his stained shirt. At once I could see where the blood seemed to stain the shirt the most, and I couldn't help but give a bit of a wince and what I saw.

"There are several wounds on the left side of the chest, in the area of the heart," I informed Tyler, I could hear him scribble this down behind me. "They appear to be knife wounds."

I looked to him over my shoulder.

"Do you want to have a look?" I asked.

"Sure," He replied, handing me the pad of paper and pencil as he stepped forward to get a look himself.

I looked around, in the corner of my eye I could see him lean to the sides a bit as if he where looking for something.

"Bizarre," Tyler spoke suddenly.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, he's still got his credit card and hundred bucks in cash on him." Tyler told me. "I guess the killer wasn't after his money"

I shrugged my shoulders. _Guess not._ I quickly scribbled that down before I looked up to Tyler.

"Do you know if anyone has contacted the family?" I asked, before handing him his pad of paper and pencil.

"Not as far as I know," Tyler replied as he took them.

I looked at him. Implying something, and it didn't take long for him to figure out what I was about to ask.

"Oh, Right. I get it," He said with a bit of a sigh. "I'll make sure it's taken care of."

"Thanks." I replied.

I looked around, quietly thinking _A murderer was just here several hours ago. He had to have left something behind. Anything._

Behind me, I could hear Tyler go over all the clues that we had so far.

"Maybe it was a revenge thing," He said suddenly. "Or a psycho. I mean _damn, _this city is _filled_ with psycho's. When I was living in the Bronx, some of the guys would _**rip out**_ _your guts_ and _hand them to you_ just so they could _steal your shoes_."

_Okay, **not helping **my** thought process, **here Tyler_.

"Tyler," I sighed with a slight sharp tone. "Could you just _shut up_ for a minute?"

"Uh… Sorry."

I shook my head. Suddenly I noticed something, something just below the open window. A mop, a mop with red on it. I went closer and knelt down to see what it was. There was no mistaking it, there was blood on the mop.

_The killer must have used it to clean up the mess,_ I figured. _But why would he risk getting caught to do that?_

I looked to the tiled floor, at once I noticed that some of the tile seemed to have been washed recently. Making it slightly impossible for me to say for sure if the body in the toilets wasn't moved by the murderer.

"Hey Carla," Tyler said suddenly.

I turned over to where he stood by the sinks.

"I think there might be some blood in the sink over here," He said, motioning to the sink that didn't have a small yellow OUT OF ORDER sign next to it's taps.

"Maybe the killer washed up before he left," I replied still knelt down.

"Yeah, could be." Tyler nodded.

I glanced back to the mop, then I turned over to stall right next to it. A strange eerie feeling shivered though me, as I noticed something on the tile floor next to the toilet. Something liquid red. Getting up I pushed the stall door open, and knelt down before the toilet.

On either side of the toilet was a small pool of blood.

_But what was it doing here?_ I wondered. Feeling a strange tingle as I looked at it.

"Did you find anything?" Tyler asked behind me.

"Possibly," I replied over my shoulder. "I don't see why there would be blood here."

"There's blood in that stall?" Tyler asked, I looked over my shoulder and nodded.

He shrugged.

"Maybe it belongs to the victim." Tyler reasoned.

I thought about that for awhile. _But why would it be here if it was the victims?_ I wondered. _And if it was, wouldn't the killer have cleaned it up?_

"Not likely," I replied over my shoulder as I got to my feet. "Get Garret to analyze it, then we'll know for sure."

I heard Tyler scribble it down on his pad of paper. Then suddenly I heard a strange rummaging sound behind me. I swung around and had to suppress a laugh at what I saw: Tyler had his whole arm buried in the trash can on the wall, rummaging around it with a screwed up face, like he was going to be sick.

"Just what _exactly_ are you _doing,_ Tyler?" I asked him, letting the bit of laughter go to my voice.

"I'm checking for clues, what do you think? That I _usually_ go to the restroom to stick my hand in the trash can?" Tyler snapped with a bit of a sharp tone.

I shook my head, knowing better then to take his sharpness personal. But quietly I agreed with him. We _did_ need to try to find the murder weapon, at least if the killer left it here. I looked down to see a nearby vent.

_Could the killer have hidden the murder weapon there?_

Once again I got down on my hands and knees to get a better look in the vent. I could see nothing between the small bars, nothing besides darkness.

"Uh… You ever consider a career in insulation, Carla?" Tyler said suddenly with a bit of a joke in his voice.

I looked up to see him giving me a cocked eyebrow, and a badly hidden smile. I guess he was trying to get me back from nearly laughing at him with his hand in the trash can.

"You ever consider a career in comedy, Tyler?" I asked him, shaking my head.

"Hey, you happen to know that I'm a very funny guy," He said with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes, getting back onto my feet.

"Do you want to take a look in here?" I asked, stepping foreword to get out of his way.

Tyler gave a bit of a shrug, and handed me the pad of paper. As Tyler looked around in the stall, I wrote down about the pool of blood in the stall. I glanced up to Tyler as I heard the sound of a flushing toilet, but I thought nothing about it. Reading over some of the other clues we had I slightly tried to piece together an M.O. (in other words a motive).

But I couldn't trust it for sure until we had found the murder weapon. If it was here that is.

I looked up to see Tyler go the toilet stall, left of the one with the body. There was the sudden sound of a flushing toilet, but I couldn't help but notice a strange clanking noise that came with it.

Tyler must have noticed it too, in an instant I could hear him lift the porcelain top, and suddenly he proclaimed, "Unless there's a gang hiding bloody knifes in toilets I think I might have found the murder weapon."

At once I felt a bit more confident, now we had the largest piece of the puzzle.

"Great job, Tyler," I said walking over to him.

I could see him nod as he looked in the area behind the toilet.

"It looks like a steak knife or something like that," He said, putting the porcelain top back on before turning to me.

At once his eyes met mine, we both we thinking the same thing: this murder wasn't premeditated.

_But what did that mean?_

"Make sure to tell Garret and get him to check for prints and blood on the blade," I told him.

"Okay," Tyler said, before looking around a bit more.

I turned back to the pad of paper. Trying to focus on the clues we had found, and scribbled down that we had found the murder weapon. But at the same time I couldn't help but wonder quietly.

_The killer used his silverware to stab his victim?_ It wasn't something I hadn't heard before. After all, like Tyler said, this city was filled with psycho's. But it gave me a strange chill.

What kind of killer were we dealing with?

---

I still was trying to piece together a motive, as we left the restroom. Even now, I could feel my head spin with the possibilities. I glanced out at one of the front windows.

_Could the killer have dropped something outside?_ I wondered.

It may be a long shot, but I wouldn't know until I took a look.

I turned to Tyler.

"Tyler I'm gonna take a look outside, okay," I told him.

"Alright, I poke around in here a bit more, and see if I can find anything else," He replied.

I gave him a half smile and started for the door.

---

As soon as I stepped out into the still ice cold air of early morning, I pulled my jacket a little closer. But at the same time the icy wind seemed to have found some place inside me, making it almost impossible for me to really feel warm. For a brief time I thought it maybe because of the body I had just seen earlier, but I pushed that aside.

No, it was just this Manhattan winter, especially this snow front that we seemed to be getting.

I looked to the crisp white ground just before the door into the small diner. I stopped dead when I saw it.

_Bit of frozen deep red on the crisp snow_.

I bent over to get a closer look. It was blood alright, but what did this mean? Tyler said he had seen blood in the sink.

Was our killer… Wounded?

I decided to keep that in mind, as I started to walk around all the police and CSI cars parked on the side to the front. As I did I quickly noticed a nearby Taxi Station on the same street as the diner.

_The murderer may have come and gone in a Taxi,_ I reasoned as another car slowly made it's way down the icy street, passing in front of me. _I'll have to check the destinations of Taxi's in this area._

I walked all the way to the far left of the small diner, to where the emergency exit would have led out. Instantly, I noticed a small alleyway filled with trash bags, and a metal barrel with a fire in it. Burning old newspapers and other bits of trash. Next to the barrel sat a gnarled, slightly gruff looking man. His long hair that showed out of the bandanna he wore on his head was shone a silvery gray in the firelight. The same silvery gray that matched the bit of a small beard and mustache he had on his face.

He wore an old army green jacket, with several other shirts and sweaters peeking out from below it, along with a faded pair of blue jeans, and a pair of beaten boots. In his hand was a bottle of some sort of alcohol of some kind (My guess it was whiskey). Even from a distance I could see a deep scar over his smoky colored left eye. Ever his face seemed to wear that sort of blankness that made me feel a bit sorry for him.

This man was homeless.

Quickly something caught my attention about this man. He seemed to be sitting right across from the open window that led to the restroom. Could he have seen the killer?

There was only one way to find out.

I walked over to him, and knelt down before him.

"Good evening sir," I greeted politely.

He looked up when I spoke, his blue (and gray) eyes widening when he saw me, the he broke into a crooked smile.

"Whoa!" He hooted in a gruff voice. "Heya _Babe_."

I don't know what it was about this guy, but hearing him, a man who had to bedecades older then me, with that type of voice say the word 'babe' made me break into a slight smile.

"What can I do for ya?" He leered, flashing me that same toothy grin.

_Well, might as well start with an introduction._

"My name is Carla Valenti." I introduced. "And you? What's your name?"

"My name?" He repeated, then gave a slight cough.

"What the hell's my name? Huh!Nobody uses it anymore. Guess I just _forgot it_."

The homeless man laughed as if he thought that funny. I couldn't help but shake my head slightly. _Right,_ I thought sarcastically. Then it seemed as if the man had just remembered something.

"Oh yeah, Bogart," He said suddenly. "My friends call me Bogart. Guess it must be because I _look_ _so much_ like that _**actor**_ fella."

Bogart gave another chuckle at that, and I couldn't help but give a bit of a smile as well. He may have seemed gruff, but I could tell he had at least some of a sense of humor.

I waited for him to stop chuckling before I finally asked him what I first wanted to ask.

"Someone was killed in that restaurant, tonight." I told him, motioning slightly to the diner behind me. "Did you happen to see anything, or anyone unusual?"

Bogart looked at me in the eye for a short while. In that moment I could swear I saw something gleam in his eyes, something… _Calculating_. But I later thought I must have imagined it.

"Did I see somethin'?" Bogart repeated. "Ha! I don't see _nothin'!_ I mind my own business."

_Damn. Well it was worth a try._ I gave a sigh

"Okay," I piped up. "Well, I probably better go."

Turning back to Bogart, I put a sympathetic look on my face.

"Try to get some place warm," I advised him, getting up. "Take care of yourself, sir."

I turned to leave the alley way. Thinking that maybe we had found all that we needed to find at this diner, and that it maybe time for me and Tyler go ahead and head on home. Then I heard a cry from Bogart that stopped me dead in my tracks.

"_I saw **someone**!"_

I swiveled around on the spot, eyebrows raised. I started back to Bogart, as to ask what he had seen when he started speaking again.

"Or… Rather… **Something**." He spoke quietly.

Then suddenly, like to get rid of a bad memory, Bogart shook his head.

"Nobody remembers 'em," He muttered softly at first then he almost seemed to yell. "**But I saw 'em!** I saw 'em come out the backdoor!"

Bogart shuddered slightly, as if the memory gave him the chills.

Looking to the snow he muttered quietly, "Oh it was **evil.** _**The devil himself**_…"

I suddenly felt beside myself, quickly stepping before him.

"What did he look like?" I asked almost hurriedly. "Can you describe him?"

At first I wondered if he heard me, since he didn't seem to respond. Then he looked up at me, his face curious.

"Huh? Who?" He asked as if he had already forgotten everything he just said. "You-you drink to much Baby, you're talkin' nonsense."

Bogart threw his head back laughing.

"_**Nonsense**_!" He muttered, turning away from me.

_Um… Okay,_ I thought putting my fingertips to my temple. _That was… Bizarre._

I shook my head and knew better then to question him further. After all, he did had a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Surely there was a possibility he was intoxicated, and was just leading me on. In fact it wouldn't surprise me if he was.

Yet I could feel his eyes follow me as I left the alleyway. The words '_Evil… The Devil himself'_ echoing in my ear.

* * *

_**Tyler Miles **_

As soon as we stepped out of the bathroom I could see Carla deep in thought. _Guess_ _she must be coming up with something for this case already,_ I thought quietly._ Good thing too, the Caffeine from the coffee is **really** starting to wear off._ Already, I was started to feel like I was going to fall asleep standing up. Suddenly Carla turned to me

"Tyler I'm gonna take a look outside, okay," She informed me.

"Alright, I poke around in here a bit more, and see if I can find anything else," I replied, knowing that was what she wanted me to hear.

Carla gave me a bit a smile before she headed for the door, meanwhile I went to Garret and Frank. Since I knew that Carla would want me to give Garret that list of things she wanted checked out ASAP, I figured that I might as well tell him now.

I walked over to where they stood, talking by the bar.

"Heya Guys," I said with a bit of a smile.

"Hi Tyler," Garret said with a smile.

"How's Sam?" Frank asked.

I gave him a bit of a smile. Feeling a bit better at the thought of my girl, safe back at home. Sleeping like the angel she was.

"She's pretty good," I replied. "She was still asleep when I left after the call."

I turned to Garret

"Hey Garret, Carla wants you to verify a few things," I told him.

He opened his mouth, like he was going to ask what, when I handed him the list I had made while in the restroom (being partnered with Carla, you gotta make one otherwise there's no way that you'd remember it all).

"Don't worry," I reassured him, with a bit of a smile. "I wrote it all down on this paper so you wouldn't forget."

Garret sighed, taking the paper from me, looking over the list.

"I had a feeling that Carla was gonna keep us up a little longer," He shook his head. "You know how she is."

"No joke," I replied.

"Speaking of staying up late," Frank piped up. "You looked hammered, Tyler"

"Yeah," I nodded, "This is my third night on-call in a row."

I gave a bit of a chuckle.

"You know me, man. If I don't get my beauty sleep, it's Zombie City."

"Ah don't worry about it," Frank told me. "You should be outta here pretty soon."

"You don't know C-Carla," I replied trying to keep down another yawn. "She can keep everybody up 'til breakfast. She's gotta be, by far, the most stubborn girl I ever met."

"I'll bet," Garret mumbled slightly, looking over the list I gave him again.

I shook my head as I started looking around. Or at least as I **tried** to look around, it's not easy when you're having trouble keeping your eyes open. Several minutes later I was pretty sure that there wasn't much else to do. So I sat down at the bar for a little bit.

Briefly I thought about calling home, just to see if Sam was alright. But the last thing I wanted to do was wake her up. Lately she had been as overworked as I was, and I didn't want to wake her if she still was asleep.

I looked around.

What else was there for me to do?

It was then I spied a jukebox against the wall, almost right next to the door. _Maybe bit of music wouldn't hurt,_ I thought. At least it would lighten this atmosphere that was still as tense as when we first walked in.

Man, even though I was half awake I could _still_ feel it.

I went over to the jukebox and pulled out a copal of quarters. Dropping them in the slot I flipped thought the songs, until I found one of my favorite's: "Street Tough" by Ben E. King.

With a bit of a smile I punched in the number, and listen to what had to be the first few words to the lyrics when the door opened.

I had just enough time to think, _Oh boy, here it comes,_ when a familiar voice said with a bit of a sigh.

"Tyler! Would you shut that _thing_ off. We're on a **murder site**, here."

I turned to see Carla, giving me her famous "look of death" that she would give if someone (mostly me I've noticed) wasn't taking the job too seriously. Like usual, I couldn't help but feel at bit guilty.

"Hey, I just thought I 'd chill the atmosphere a little." I tried to defend myself.

Carla continued to give me that "look".

"Okay it's off." I said, knowing defeat.

I turned to the jukebox, knowing I better pull the plug quickly before Carla popped a vein. Bending down I quickly spotted the plug and pulled it from the socket.

_Man, there goes a copal quarters that I'll never see again,_ I thought grudgingly. I glanced over to Carla and could swore I saw a bit of a smile before she shook her head.

Standing up I walked over to her.

"You find anything new Tyler?" She asked.

"Nope," I replied, feeling another yawn coming on it's way. "Besides, for that I'd have to keep my eyes open."

Carla shook her head.

"Keep up the good work Tyler," she said, a bit of a joke in her voice.

"Hey I try," I shrugged. "I poked around but didn't find anything thing new. What about you?"

She gave a bit of a sigh, at once I could see she had something on her mind. But she simply said, "Nothing that's really worth interest."

I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, _you do what you can right?_ And she gave a bit of a grin.

"So, if that's it, you ready to go Tyler?" She asked suddenly.

At this I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows. I guess I was expecting to hang around a bit longer, sometimes Carla can take _hours_ at _one_ crime scene.

"Are you sure?" I asked automatically. "We can take another look around if you want."

Now, I was all for leaving, trust me, but I was pretty into solving this case as I could be (for being half asleep anyway). But I have to say I was pretty relieved when Carla shook her head. It was then I could see she was as tired as I was.

"Nope, I think we're pretty good," She replied. "Let's head home."

"Okay, let's bust." I said, heading for the door.

_Cool, Carla agrees to go,_ I thought pushing open the door. _Now let's get into the car before she **changes her mind** like the last time._

I quickly pulled out the keys to my golden yellow with red racing stripes '73 Camaro, and went to the driver's side. After pulling open the door, I jumped into the driver's seat, while Carla went shotgun like she usually did.

As I started up the engine I looked over to see she was deep in thought, like something really stumped her about this murder. Putting the car into drive I couldn't help but think to myself:

_Something tells me this is going to be the start of another really **long** case._

I can tell you, sometimes I hate being right.


	4. The Morning After

_**C**HAPTER III_

_**T**HE** M**ORNING** A**FTER_

_**Lucas Kane**_

_**Lucas's Apartment**_

_**1/27 7:25 A.M.**_

_**14ºF**_

I jerked awake with a start to hear my own screams fade away into silence. Perspiration beaded on my forehead, and trickled down my neck. Franticly, I glanced around trying to understand where I was. Fresh images of knifes, dingy restrooms, bloody serpents, and a dead man with a shirt stained crimson made my head spin and ache.

I could quickly see I was in my boxers, lying on a bed of tangled red and white sheets, below a painting made by a modern artist. The walls of the room were painted a tanned color, boxes were stacked in the far left corner next to a desk were a computer sat on its top. On the right wall was a closet. A little farther from it was a window left wide open, giving the room a horrible freezing chill that seared through blood and bone.

At once relief seemed to soothe the spinning images that had flown through my head. I knew this room. It was my room. I was in my apartment. I was home.

Yet despite this I could still feel myself quivering from more of fear than the cold. The images from my dream becoming even more vivid the more awake I became. My head started pounding so badly, that my hands flew to my temple.

_A Nightmare,_ I thought quickly. _That's all it was. Just a horrible nightmare._

_I didn't kill anyone. I never did._

Taking several deep breaths I tried to slow down my racing heartbeat. Dropping my hands from my face, I moved over to the right-edge of the bed. But as soon as my feet hit the cold hardwood floor my hands ran through something… Something oddly wet. As a reflex I glanced over my shoulder to see what it was, and felt a sudden lurch at what I saw before me.

Red staining the white bed sheets like blood on snow.

A suddenly sensation in my forearms ripped my eyes away from the dark crimson that could only be one thing. I turned my palms to the ceiling to look at my forearms. Bloody two-headed serpent on each arm stared back up at me, carved in my flesh. I almost retched as images of that dingy restroom from my dream instantaneously came back into my mind's eye with startlingly clarity. The images of a bloody knife in my hands searing through my memory.

_No!_ I though franticly, pain screaming in my skull. _It was just a dream! I-I still must be asleep. I've got to wake up!_

I looked up desperately to the ceiling above.

_Wake up Lucas! __**Wake up!**_

Letting my arms fall to my sides, my forearms struck the top edge corners of my mattress. I sharply drew in a breath as a stinging pain shot up my arms. A pain that brought a cruel epiphany along with it.

I wasn't dreaming. It all _really_ happened.

The possession, the murder, the narrow escape from the cop; all of it had been…_Real_. At once I could feel my heart start to pound franticly from the fear I felt flooding in my veins.

_Oh God, what am I going to do now?_

_What am I going to do?_

I took several deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Trying to come up with some sort of plan. At the moment one option seemed to be open for me: try to act as normal as I could. It was the only way to not raise any suspicion. It was only then could I try to find answers to what had happened last night and why.

Despite my tightening throat I quickly came to one conclusion: I had to get ready to go to work. After all it was I had done on every "normal" day.

Taking another deep breath I stood up, about to head to my closet when it happened. If I thought the pain in my head was bad before, it was nothing compared to the horrible throbbing it was now. It felt as if someone had shoved a thick steel bar into my brain and then melted it. My vision seemed to swim and blur as my ears buzzed, making my stomach turn.

With one hand on my temple, I turned to my small drawer I had next to my bed. _Got to make this stop,_ I though weakly through the insane pounding. With my other hand, I felt around the top of the dresser drawer. Once I felt my fingers close around the small bottle of pills I dropped the other hand from my forehead and popped open the lid. Desperately wanting to get rid of this horrible pain, I poured a pill into my hand then popped it into my mouth.

_That should help my migraine_, I though as I swallowed the pill.

It may have been my imagination but I could feel the pain start to lessen a bit. Well enough to see the notice printed on the bottle that read very clearly: "**DON'T TAKE WITH ALCOHOL**."

_Don't have to worry about that,_ I couldn't help but think sardonically._ After last night the __very last thing__ I want is a drink_.

I closed the lid and set the container of pills on my night table, next to my copy of _"__Thus Spoke Zarthustra__"_ By Niche. Not far away from both of them sat a small weather radio. Automatically I pressed the _'POWER'_ button. At once the over-enthused DJ's voice filled the room.

"**Hey, you're listening to K20-605! And now let's check with our weather reporter Mindy! Hi Mindy!**"

"**Hey Peter**," Spoke the female reporter calmly. "**My suggestion is: Dress very warmly today. Last night was extremely cold, and in some places the snow has turned into sheets of-.**"

Not having to hear anymore I switched the radio off. At once another cold wind blew through my window, making my insides feel like ice. Shivering I went to the window and pulled it shut.

It wasn't long until the heat from the apartment building's heater finally turned on in my room, but it didn't warm the cold guilt that still lay inside me. I glimpsed back at my bed. The sight of my dried blood on the white sheets drained any feelings of exhaustion I had left.

I quickly decided to change the sheets when I came home from work, but first I knew it would be better if I got dressed into something warm. I strode over to my closet, pulling the door to the side, and reached for a warm sweater and a pair of pants. But I stopped even before my fingers brushed the material.

One of those bloody two headed serpents I had carved on my arms stared back at me. Still bleeding slightly. I guessed whatever blood that had clotted last night must have gotten rubbed off when I feel asleep.

I couldn't get dressed just yet, not with my wrists this bloody. _I've got to do something about this_, I thought as I looked to the bloody serpents. Dropping my hands to my sides I went to the door of my room, into the rest of my apartment.

I looked around the room. Trying to take comfort, for the first time in a month, in an apartment that I had started to live in alone. Yet I couldn't help but feel a bit like a stranger in someone else's home.

This may have been my living room with the entertainment system I had bought, setting before the square glass coffee table and the several empty bottles set on it. With my green couch and two arm-chairs set around it. That may have been my guitar and amp I had set in the corner next to the balcony door. That may have been my large punching bag I had hung from the ceiling beams years ago after taking those self-defense classes. However everything seemed a bit … different. It almost seemed like… someone else's.

But everything seemed familiar as well; I tried to take a bit of comfort in that. I started for the bathroom door, but stopped when the telephone started to ring.

_Who could be calling me this early?_ I wondered as I walked to the phone. Picking the receiver I pressed the small button to take the call.

"Hello," I spoke softly.

"Lucas?" Said a voice I had heard last night only on an answering machine.

"Is that you Markus?" I asked, just to be sure.

"Yes," He replied. "It's good to hear from you."

"It's good to hear from you too," I told him.

At once I knew I had to tell him. He had to know. Beside if anyone could help me, it was my older brother. But before I could start, he spoke.

"I'm-I'm sure you know that tomorrow is the tenth year anniversary of… of the accident," He told me pausing for a little while after his sentence.

I knew instantly what he was talking about. _Has it really been that long?_ I thought hollowly, feeling a slight tug as I usually did when I thought about… _this_.

"I called to ask if you wanted to go to mom and dad's gravestone, and pay our respects together," Markus continued. "And, to be honest, I was looking for an excuse to catch up with you."

"All right," I agreed, taking a deep breath.

_It's now or never_, I thought.

"I need to see you Markus," I blurted out suddenly. "I'm in big trouble."

"Trouble?" Markus repeated, his tone both surprised and filled with concern. "What are you talking about, Lucas? What happened?"

I winced at this. How could I tell him what had happen, without looking at him face to face? How could I convince him it wasn't really me without looking at my brother in the eye? Besides, couldn't calls be traced and recorded?

"I can't really talk about it on the telephone," I told him softly. "It's serious, Markus."

Hearing this, my brother understood, and didn't hesitate since he knew I was telling him the truth.

"I'll meet you in a half hour at the park," Markus said without missing a beat.

I nodded, despite the fact he couldn't see me.

"See you there."

As soon as my brother hung up the phone. I wasn't long in following. I knew I had to quickly get dressed. Work could wait; I needed to see Markus, now.

When I placed the phone back in its cradle, I glimpsed at my answering machine. A small number _**1**_ flashing on its small screen, showing I had missed a call. I pressed the button to hear the message. Turning away to head over to my small kitchen area next to my refrigerator.

"_**Yesterday at 7:30 p.m."**_ spoke the computerized voice suddenly after a short beep.

Instantly the voice changed.

"_**Lucas, It's Tiffany..."**_

I stopped dead in my tracks. Turning to look at the answering machine as it continued.

"_**I thought I could come by tomorrow and pick up a few things… Well, call me back"**_

I turned back to the kitchen. Not moving as I felt a mix of emotions. Amidst everything that had happened, I had forgotten…

_You knew this was coming Lucas,_ I told myself. But it still didn't help the empty feeling I had in my chest.

I gave another sigh as I continued to the refrigerator, and opened the door. Grabbing the carton of milk, I brought it up to my mouth, taking several deep sips. At once I started to feel a bit better. I turned once more to walk to the bathroom. When I spied something on the floor before one of the two large columns in my apartment.

Cautiously, I slowly treaded to see that it was a shirt that I had seemed to left on the floor. _Odd_, I thought, _I rarely ever leave my clothes out here_. Something about this shirt caught my eye, strange brownish-red colored stains that looked as if something had been splattered on its front. I knelt down to take a closer look at this, reaching for my shirt. The second my fingers touched the cloth a sharp shock shot up my spine. My head snapped back as a strange sensation filled my skull. It was almost like a head rush, yet something …something unnatural, for me anyway, was happening.

Images were filling my mind! Images of…

…_Myself, my eyes clouded and rolled into the back of my head. Dressed in that gray shirt, as I raised the knife in my hands above my head and plunged it down again, and again in the man below me. His blood splattering my face. STOP IT! I could hear myself scream, yet no words pushed past my lips…_

…I felt a jerk, and collapsed to my hands and knees. Waves of nausea washed over me, leaving me shaking inside. I could feel my head, still spinning from earlier, starting to ache dully. I put a hand up to my temple, trying to soothe the slight pain and steady myself.

_Deep breaths Lucas_, I told myself, trying to regain my grip.

It wasn't long until I felt the strange rushing sensation disappear, as well as the sudden nausea vanished. Steadily I stood up, and looked down to the shirt below me. At once I realized where I had seen it.

It was the shirt I had worn last night. Those brownish red stains that seemed to cover my shirt it was… blood.

_I better not leave that there_, I thought.

Gingerly, I bent down and grabbed the shirt by the hem. I bustled to the bathroom door and pulled it open.

I glanced at the light blue painted walls and the wall tiles that also lined them. I spared another glance at the white porcelain sink, toilet, and my bath/shower, when I turned to my washing and drying machine. Kneeling before it, I pulled the circular door open. After shoving my bloodstained shirt into the machine, I shut the door behind it and set the water to cold. I have to admit, I couldn't help but give a sigh of relief with I heard the water turn on.

_Now to take care of my forearms._

I went to the sink, meeting my eyes in the mirrored door to my medicine cabinet for a short time before I turned on the cold water. First, I washed the blood the seeped from my cuts. Then cupping my hands, I splashed water on my face as if I were trying to clean off that…_horrible thing_ I had done last night from my memory. But deep down inside I still felt dirty, contaminated.

I shook my hands dry, and then opened the door to the small medicine cabinet. At once I spied several bandages that I quickly grabbed, and started to wrap around my bleeding forearms. The question once again arose in my mind.

_What does this symbol on my forearms mean? _

Wondering about this slightly, I finished bandaging my arms. I couldn't help but feel a bit better now that I didn't have to face those bloody serpents carved in my wrists. Not having to get anything else from the cabinet I closed the door. In the corner of the mirror I noticed someone standing over my shoulder.

A freighting familiar man with thinning blonde hair, a pair of glasses, and deathly pale skin. Blood came from his lip and stained his crisp white shirt.

_My god! It's… It's him! The man that I… The man that I killed last night!_

I let out a cry of fear, swinging around, jumping against the sink. But nothing was there.

Nothing and no one.

Dispute the fact that I must have been seeing things, I could still feel myself trembling. Abruptly I couldn't stay in that bathroom any longer. I burst out of the room. Pausing only once I was near the column that I had found my bloodstained shirt next to.

_It's alright Lucas_, I tried to tell myself. _You're fine, your-your just still shocked about what had happened. Just stay calm. Stay calm. _

But how could I, guilt was still eating away inside me like some horrible parasite. I waited until that horrible feeling in my stomach had finally subsided before I could trust myself to move.

I trudged over to my coffee table. Almost subconsciously I grabbed the remote and clicked the TV on. At once I could see that the morning news was on, and I soon discovered my mistake.

I turned my attention to the TV set to receive a shock when I saw none other than that little diner that I had been at just last night. The camera men showed footage of cop cars all around the diner, yellow crime scene tape all around the area as the newscaster gave the report.

"_The body of a man was discovered late last night at an East End restaurant. The victim was stabbed several times with a steak knife while yards away other costumers were comfortably eating their meals. Investigators are already on the trail of a suspect who fled the scene shortly before the body was found. The police have no comment for the time being but stayed tuned for more news later on this-."_

I couldn't bear to hear anymore. I clicked off the TV with my remote; I could feel the remote slip from my fingers as I stumbled back, the reality of this truly hitting me. The cops were already on my trail, not even a day later, they had already found something. A small shard of memory suddenly hit me, _Had I left something behind? _Did it really matter? This memory would not go away now that I had seen the news station that I had always watched before setting off give a report a murder that I… that I had committed with no control over my body.

I slumped down on my couch as I buried my face into my hands. _Oh god_, I couldn't help but think. _How am I ever going to live with this?_

Suddenly I heard a strange noise, like the television had been clicked on. _What on earth? _I wondered as I lowered my hands. Static seemed to fill my television screen. I leaned forward suddenly, about to reach for the remote to click it off when my television screen went black.

The newscaster's voice suddenly seemed to issue from the television and echo in my ears.

"_The victim was stabbed several times with a steak knife…_"

"_The victim was stabbed several times with a steak knife…_"

"_The victim… was… stabbed… several… times… with… a steak… knife…_"

Suddenly a nightmarish imaged of a horrible blood red figure came into my mind, a figure who had my silhouette and my dark eyes. Stabbing down mercilessly on an invisible victim with a knife they had in their left hand.

_Stop it!_

I gave a cry and at once I fell back against the back of the couch. The images suddenly disappearing as I looked to the now blank television screen. My head spinning horribly as images of the night before once again spun in my memory.

I jumped up and hurried to the kitchen area, grabbing a clean glass and filling it with water from the tap. I drank the water eagerly, as if it would clear the haunting images that filled my mind. Maybe it did help in its own way; but I do know that I couldn't help but feel slightly better at this.

_I need to see Markus quickly,_ I thought to myself. _Hopefully he'll have an idea of what to do._

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to my bedroom door and walked through the doorway. Once again, I strode over to my closet, the sliding door still open from earlier. Remembering what they had said on the radio, I quickly grabbed one of my warmest sweaters, a pair of pants, and my jacket. Pulling them on I tried not to think of anything, trying to clear my mind in hopes that the images wouldn't return. It seemed to work, for awhile, that iciness that seemed to weight on my shoulders lessened slightly. As soon as I was dressed in everything I needed I closed the closet door and started to make my way back to my bedroom door. I must have been halfway across the room when it happened.

It felt like my head started spinning uncontrollably, a strange feeling had burst in my mind as if some sort of energy was building in my brain. I felt dazed, then suddenly a sharp pain struck through my senses. I couldn't help but give a cry as I bent forward, my hands going to my eyes and forehead. Suddenly, in a flash of light and color, images played behind my eyes like those on a movie screen…

… _I could see a police officer in a NYPD parka, with a brunette hair and a brown haired mustache knocking at my door. I could hear his knocking in my ears! His voice filled with authority, demanding._

"_New York Police, please open the door."_

_Suddenly light and color flashed in my eyes as the images of my blood stained shirt and my bloody bed-sheets filled my mind._

"_Hey what's that?!" I could hear that same cop's voice suddenly cry out._

_Then I saw myself as he suddenly yelled, "Stay where you are and put your hands in the air!"_

_My face filled with resignation and regret as I lifted my arms to the sky…_

…Then, as abruptly as it had happen, it stopped. Those images disappeared in another flash of light. I stood up straight my hands still on my face even as those images seemed to linger in my memory.

_These images in my head,_ I couldn't help but think terrified. _I-I must be losing my mind._

Feeling quite lightheaded at this strange experience I sat down on the foot of my bed, trying to calm my racing mind. Breathing in and out. I must have sat there for several minutes at least until the dizziness stopped.

_No, you're not crazy Lucas. You can't be, just breathe. You just need some air._

But breathing suddenly seemed difficult to do as I looked next to me at the bloodstained sheets still on my bed. For some reason leaving them like that, uncovered and in the open disturbed me more than I can ever describe. Without even realizing what I was doing I stood up, grabbing the comforter and pulled the sheet over, hiding the sheets filled with blood out of all sight. I wasn't sure how to react to this, other than the fact I couldn't help but feel a bit better now that they were out of sight. In fact, in a way, this seemed to make me shudder even more than before.

I really needed some air, some _fresh_ air. Walking back out into my living room I quickly headed for the door to my rather small balcony. As soon as I opened that glass door a rush of freezing wind hit my face. Wind so cold that it seemed to sting the skin on my face, but I overlooked it. At least the air was as fresh as the streets of New York could provide. At that moment I noticed I wasn't alone.

Sitting there, perched on the railway that covered the balcony wall, was a large crow. My first instinct was to jump back. But instead I stood there staring at the bird, and, strangely enough it seemed to stare back at me. Its yellow eyes focused only on me as if the crow was…_ inspecting_ me. I took a step forward, expecting the shadow colored bird to fly away in fright. Nothing happened. In fact the crow seemed even more curious of me than any other bird I had seen in the wild. Then, as if finished with his inspection, the crow turned away from me on spindly legs and took wing.

_That's weird,_ I couldn't help but think as I stepped to where the crow had sat moments before, watching the bird fade from sight. _I don't think I've ever seen a wild crow do something like that._

I stood there a few minutes contemplating on this slightly. I also wondered how I could break the news to Markus, the only family I had left. How could I tell him what I had done? What would he do?

I cannot say for certain how much time passed as I pondered these questions, but I do know it must have been awhile. For when I passed out of my reverie my fingers were nearly numb with cold.

_I probably should think of going to the park,_ I thought. _Who knows how long a cab would take in this weather?_

I had just turned to my glass door when a sound suddenly came from inside my apartment that made me jump. A sound like someone was pounding on my door. I quickly opened my balcony door to hear an all too familiar voice suddenly ring out however muffled on the other side of my door.

"New York Police, please open the door!"

_Oh god! It's the police!_

I could feel my insides shaking, as I feared that the very worst had come to happen too soon.

_They know! They've come to arrest me!_

---

A horrible, wit dulling panic filled me. I could feel myself quivering violently. A roaring in my ears nearly made the cop's knocking and what he said next nearly incoherent.

"Police! Open up!"

"J-just a minute!" I could hear myself yell in return faintly. "I'm coming!"

_I can't let him find anything that could link me to last night._

Suddenly, that strange flash of my bloody shirt and my bloodstained bed-sheets seemed to flash behind my eyes. Images of myself putting my blood splattered shirt into the washing machine, and pulling my comforter over my blood stained sheets suddenly played in my memory. That would have to do. If this officer had a warrant for my arrest…

Then there was nothing more I could do. That thought alone left me filled with a horrible fear.

I looked over to my door key, still on the table from when I came in last night, grabbing it I ran to the door just as the cop had started pounding once again on the door. My hands were shaking so much I had a bit of trouble putting my key in the lock and unlocking my door.

Opening my door just a bit, I peered at the cop. I felt a shock when I saw he looked exactly like the cop I had seen in that strange almost the flash of vision that I had earlier. Trying to hide the mixture of panic and ever growing fear, I looked him in the eye.

"Are you Lucas Kane?" The cop asked suddenly.

I could my stomach clench. How else could he know about my name?

"Yes," I replied simply, feeling as though I might as well have closed the door to my prison cell.

But what the cop said next, nearly surprised me as much as his appearance on my door step.

"Mister Kane the neighbor's have heard yelling from your apartment. Is there a problem?"

_Yelling? He's here because of my yelling?_ I thought vaguely._ He's not here to arrest me?_

My panic seemed to lessen slightly, even as my fear remained.

"Oh, yeah," I said, remembering how I had woke up screaming as well as… well my other strange _episodes_ this morning. "Yeah that was me."

The cop raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched on his face. Quickly, I thought up a lie.

"I cut myself on some broken glass, and I, er, freaked out a little. Fortunately, it wasn't a really big deal."

The cop must not have really believed me. At that moment he took a step forward.

"Would it be alright if I took a little look around your apartment?"

_NO!_ My mind screamed, vividly remembering the image of my hands up in surrender.

"I can assure you," I told him. "That everything's fine here, I-."

"Do you mind just letting me in, sir?" The cop quite curtly, suspicion glinting in his eyes.

At once I knew this was not up for discussion, I couldn't let him suspect anything, not so soon. I gave, what I hoped to be, an annoyed sigh.

"Whatever, go ahead," I shrugged.

Trying to ignore my now rapidly pounding heart I opened the door and watched the cop walk in. Staying close to the door all the while, wishing I could run out of it. The cop glanced at me slightly, as if he was studying me. Suddenly he spoke.

"What happened to your wrists sir?" He asked me, his tone becoming less demanding, more curious.

"I told you," I said, attempting to sound a bit exasperated. "I had a stupid accident with some broken glass."

"Holy cow," The cop remarked. "When you cut yourself you go all the way don't you?"

It seemed like in another world I would have laughed at that. I might have even made a joke at my own expense, if I wasn't so terrified that this was my last moments of freedom. I watched in barley concealed panic as the cop glanced around my apartment as if he was expecting to see someone else in this apartment besides me.

He looked to me, as if sizing me up, as he walked to my bathroom door, opening it and glancing inside. After a few seconds he shut the bathroom door and turned away. Heading for my bedroom door.

I watched him, lump growing in my throat as he made his way across the room. He opened the door and looked around my bedroom as if looking for something. I nearly gave a sigh of relief when he turned back to me. Obviously finding nothing.

"Thank you for your cooperation," The Cop said and he started for the apartment door that I had just then (and only then) stepped back from to open for him.

"Sorry to have bothered you, sir." He continued. "You know how it is. With everything that have been going on we prefer to be careful."

Nodding I replied, "I understand."

With a nod in return the cop walked through the door. I could hear him say, "So long, Mister Kane," as he turned away from my door, heading for the lift. I shut the door behind him, feeling suddenly slightly drained of energy. I turned around and leaned against the door, looking to the ceiling above me taking a deep breath in, and looking to the floor as I breathed out. Relief warming me like a warm blanket.

_That was too close_, I thought.

I wondered slightly, on the cop and the strange kind of vision I had, seeing him before he had knocked on my door, but I decided not to dwell on it at that moment.

It was about time I spoke to Markus about all that had happened. I could only hope he would know what to do.


	5. Confession

_**4**_

_**C**ONFESSION_

_**Lucas Kane**_

_**Central Park**_

_**1/27 9:04 A.M.**_

_**14̊ F**_

When Markus and I were kids we were inseparable. He's the one who looked after me when our parents died. I guess you could say we sort of grew apart when he became a priest. But he is, still, the one person that I really trust.

The only one could understand me when I said I had _nothing _to do with all this mess.

Maybe this was the reason I didn't waste any time to meet him after he had called me. Since we hadn't really said where in the park, I found myself walking on its snow covered walkways. Pulling my jacket closer to avoid the bone chilling cold that had fallen this winter. After treading on the pathways for awhile I found myself nearby one of the statues next to the lake.

For a short while I gazed over the area. People like myself were walking in the snow, children were playing tag and having snowball fights, people were sitting on the benching talking, there was even a homeless man asleep on one of those benches (_poor guy,_ I had thought, _out in this freezing cold_). But it was one man in particular who caught my eye.

He looked to be about thirty seven years old, with dark hair, a face slightly similar to mine, and a pair of brown eyes behind his glasses. He wore a thick black jacket and yet, even at a distance, I could see his crisp white collar that matched the snow on the ground.

I felt a small flicker of a smile go onto my face when he spotted me and motioned me foreword. One of those rare smiles graced his face when I was close enough to speak to him.

"I'm happy to see you, Lucas. I've missed you," Markus told me. "It's been awhile hasn't it?"

"If you call two years awhile, Markus," I replied, feeling that small bit of humor I had before that… _terrible night_ surface slightly.

Markus gave me a bit of a grin that reminded me of the boys we had been growing up. But I couldn't find it in myself to smile back. After all, what could I smile about now? As if sensing this, the grin died on Markus' face and a worried one replaced it instantly.

"You said on the phone you were in trouble. So tell me, what's happened Lucas?" He asked, concern showing in his brown eyes.

I swallowed hard, trying not to flinch at that question. Slowly, I tried to gather the courage to tell him what… horrible thing I had done last night. But how can you tell someone whose been there for your in more ways than one that you had killed someone?

My gaze fell to my snow covered shoes, unable to witness the look on my brother's face when I told him the horrible truth.

"I… I killed a man, Markus," I spoke so softly I wasn't sure he could hear it.

Yet… He had.

"Wh-_what_?"

It took all of the strength I had to look up to my brother's face, as it had suddenly became hard not to see what his reaction on his face was. I tried not to wince I saw as disbelief and shock there.

"It-it happened in a restaurant last night," I told him softly. "It was like I was… possessed. Under some sort of trance. Like I was a puppet on a string. I-I saw what I was doing but I was powerless to stop it!"

Several seconds of silence passed between us. A horrible silence that seemed to stretch until it was broken by my brother.

"My God," Markus breathed, taking a step back as though my news had staggered him. "I-I can't believe this Lucas."

He buried his face in his hands, a gesture that made me bow my head once more, feeling even worse than I thought possible.

"Tell me that _it wasn't you_," Markus begged suddenly. "You wouldn't. You're not capable of something like _that_."

I wished I could tell him that. That I hadn't done it, that it was all just a big joke that we could laugh about some other time… But I couldn't lie to him. I _wouldn't_ lie to him.

_Might as well show him what else had happened_ I thought sadly.

"And there's this too." I said pulling back my coat sleeves slightly, showing my bandaged forearms.

Markus' eyes flashed with alarm.

"You cut your wrists?" He gasped in further shock if it was possible.

Shaking my head, I let my arms fall to my sides.

"Before the murder I carved these symbols onto my arms with a knife." I told him. "I don't know if they mean anything."

Markus, shook his head, as if he was still reeling from this unwelcoming news.

"And this… murder," He spoke. "How exactly did it happen?"

Deciding once I left my apartment I would tell Markus all he needed to know I took several deep breaths, pacing in front of him before I started.

"After work last night I stopped at this little diner to get something to eat…"

It was odd but a strange small shard of memory suddenly came to the surface of my still foggy memory. I paused to look at him trying to remember.

"I-I read a book at my table… I think. And then afterwards it's just a black hole. Right up until I found myself in the toilets with a knife in my hand and then…"

I trailed off, memories what happened next searing my mind's eye. I could feel my stomach start to turn.

"It- it was _horrible_," I told him, unable to describe what had happened next.

"Had you been drinking?" Markus asked suddenly, as if he were trying to piece some logic in all of this. "Taking drugs?"

I shook my head.

"You **know** I _don't do that_ Markus," I replied softly.

Markus sighed, as if he had known yet feared my answer.

"Were there any witnesses?" He asked softly.

"Probably, I got out of the restaurant the best I could." I told him. "The police still haven't identified me apparently but it probably won't take them too long to track me down."

Markus took another deep breath. I could see from the look in his eye he was doing some quick thinking.

"You say that you were in a sort of trance," He began carefully as if he wasn't entirely sure on how to feel about the subject. "What do you mean by that? Are you talking about magic, or sorcery, or something like that?"

"Markus I don't have an explanation," I told him, slightly exasperated. "I'm just telling you what happened, that's all, I know one thing for certain: I'm _**not** the one who really killed that man."_

Markus looked skeptic, nor could I blame him. I took a deep breath, about to explain something else had haunted me for the past few hours.

"While I was doing this… horrible thing I-I saw somebody, or rather someone."

"Was somebody there with you?" Markus asked, puzzled.

"No," I shook my head. "It was… I know that sounds insane, but it was like a sort of vision. I saw a man in the middle of hundreds of candles. And there was this little girl."

I looked over to see a stunned look cross my brother's face.

"You-you saw a little girl?" He breathed, as though I had told the last thing he had ever expected.

"She seemed alone. Lost. She-she reached out her hand. It was as if she was calling on me to help her."

I stopped. I didn't tell Markus that this little girl had appeared out of a haunting indigo colored shadow. The thought it seemed to send shivers down my spine, even more so that I felt I had something to do with all of it.

I turned to Markus, feeling all of the desperation I had suddenly crash over me like a wave.

"What happened to me Markus?" I asked, not bothering to add the bit of panic I could feel as what I had done still seemed to sink in. "You know me better than anyone Markus. Please, _help me_."

Markus buried his face in his hands.

"Lucas, I-." He spoke as if he were trying to piece up what he thought I should do. "I'm a bit lost here. This story it's-it's just so bizarre."

He paced in front of me until he suddenly spoke.

"It might be better…"

Markus stopped in front of me suddenly.

"Maybe you should go, and explain your story to the police Lucas," He told me suddenly. "Turn yourself in, before they find you."

I couldn't help but feel as though I had been smacked in the face. He was telling me to _give up_, my own brother wanted me to go to _**prison**?_

"Do you really think the police are going to _believe_ a story **like that**?" I couldn't help but snap suddenly. "They'll throw me in prison for the _rest of my life_ and I'll **never** find out what really happened."

Markus suddenly looked solemn.

"I am a priest, Lucas," He said, his voice serious. "The fact that you have taken a life is a very serious matter."

"I _told you_ _**it wasn't me**, Markus!" I cried out like a child accused of something he hadn't done._

I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help but feel anger and resentment coursing in my veins as I looked to my brother.

"All these years and **nothing's **changed," I snapped. "You still never listen to me!"

"Lucas," Markus said, turning away from me as if he couldn't meet my eyes at that moment. "Please, don't ask me to chose between my faith and my brother."

I froze. My anger melting away, leaving me with the horrible weight of guilt on my chest for doing this to him.

"I'm not a murder Markus," I told him. "You're the only person I can trust. I'm just asking you to _believe me_."

Markus gave a deep sigh, covering his face with his hands. Until he spoke.

"Very well. I'll do whatever I can for you. But-…"

He looked up suddenly.

"Don't ask me to do anything that goes against my beliefs."

I nodded.

"Look," I said backing away, feeling it was time to go. I still had work after all. "I need to get some answers. I'll-I'll call you."

"Wait," Markus said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Finding what he needed I watched my brother pull out something that looked like some sort of necklace. It was only when he held it out before me did truly see what it was.

It was Markus' rosary, the one mom and dad left to him in their will. The silver cross and chain still gleamed as I remember it did while the sapphire beads still seemed untouched by time.

"Here," My older brother said insistent. "You need this more than I do."

I couldn't help it, I gave a bit of a sigh and had to resist from rolling my eyes.

"Markus," I started under my breath. "You _know_ I don't believe in all that."

"You did once," He pointed out.

"That was a _long time_ ago," I insisted. "That change after…"

Once again, there was another unbearable silence between us.

"Please Lucas, just take it," Markus spoke, a bit of pleading in his tone that I had never heard before. "It would help me if you did."

_He's just trying to help_, I reminded myself._ Besides, this isn't really good news for him to bear either.__ Especially now._Taking another deep sigh I took the rosary just as he asked, and put it in my pocket.

"Thanks," I said, more thankful for the fact he had listened than anything else.

It was then I turned and walked down the pathway leaving my brother behind, as we went our separate ways. Options of what I should do next whirled in my head. I knew I had pretend it was a normal day after all, it would keep suspicion off me for awhile but after that I couldn't help but feel… Lost.

_Where do I go from here_ I wondered again and again. As I walked down to the path by the lake, not too far from a nearby highway where I could easily get a taxi.

But then it happened, so suddenly I almost cried out.

I felt my head do that uncontrollable spinning, my insides almost retched as I bent foreword. There was that sharp sense of pain that (although it wasn't as intense) caused me to shut my eyes against it and once again images were playing before my eyes.

…_A young boy around six or seven years old was laughing happily, dressed in a pale blue winter jacket, stood on the wooden plank that was used as a small wharf for the boats in the summer. Walking on it as if he were on a tightrope playing a kind of game children could only understand. _

_But this "game" suddenly changed, for he suddenly hit a slick patch of ice. He gasped, not expecting it, he struggled to keep his balance but it was too late._

_He was falling, falling helplessly towards the ice. He cried out too late as the ice broke instantly beneath him as cold water searing through his clothes and through his blood and bone the last thing he felt before darkness took him…_

_… _Suddenly the odd feeling disappeared, as did that strange shock. Yet the images lingered in my memory, like smoke from a dying fire. _What was that?_ I couldn't help but think, standing up straight even though my hands were still on my face. _This has been the second time this morning. What does this mean?_

But my thoughts were interrupted as I heard an eerily familiar sound. The sound of a child's laughter.

I looked up and almost cried out. For there before me, standing on the small wharf, _was the boy I had seen!_

_My god! _I nearly cried, as I watched him step onto the plank as I had seen mere moments before.

_That kid,_ I thought with a strange sense of knowing that I can't explain even to this day,_ he's going to slip on the ice and fall! _

I took a step towards him, as if to stop him. When I saw two other people coming up the other path in the corner of my eye. Two police officers chatting to one another, not noticing the child or me. But the closer they got the more I realized something, I recognized one of those cops.

_He was the cop__ from the restaurant__ last night_

And he was walking on the pathway that, if I went out to stop the kid from falling, he would see me for sure. At once I felt like I was being pulled in two. If I didn't do something I knew that that boy would die… I could _feel it_. But if I did do something that cop would recognize me, and then…

_What am I going to do?_

But my mind went blank as I heard that familiar gasp. I could only watch the boy as if mesmerized as he struggled to get his footing. I nearly cried out with him as I watched him fall ice breaking instantly beneath his weight.

_No!_

Not thinking I made my choice.

I didn't care if I got caught, not at that moment. I had to save that boy's life even… if was the last thing I would do before going to prison.

I ran towards that hole in the ice. As soon as I was close, I took a deep breath and leapt into the water.

I nearly gasped an the contact my skin had with the water, it felt like a thousand needles were piercing all over my skin. Weakly I opened my eye searching in the murky water for the boy. Faintly I could see a familiar pale blue near the bottom of the lake. I tried to swim, but it was hard I muscles were becoming numb all over, I could feel myself shivering despite the fact didn't do me much good in the water.

_Hypothermia_.

But I_ had_ to save that kid. I just _had_ to. Not caring the my body was screaming in protest I kicked my legs, pumping my arms as best as I could, trying to make it towards that pale blue that I could faintly see below me. I could feel my hands go completely numb, yet I could see the boy clearly, lying on the rocky lake bottom.

_There he is. _

It was then I noticed, he wasn't moving.

_He must have lost consciousness in the shock of hitting the cold water. _

Awkwardly I grabbed him around the waist and turned up to the surface. I had to get back up before I ran out air, already my lungs were burning from pumping numbed muscles. I tried to kick my legs but the muscles had now become so numb I didn't feel them move. I tried to move my free arm, it could only wave uselessly. I could feel myself shivering get even more violent.

_No! It can't end like this! It __**can't!**_

It was strange but I felt something… odd burst within me, like I had drank something for it's warmth. It was faint, yet it was all I needed to kick my legs up. Breaking the surface with a gasp. I swam over to the make shift wharf and pulled the boy on to stable ground. That warmth within me with draining and fast. Awkwardly I pulled myself out of the icy lake and into the snow. Taking several deep breaths, I could feel myself still shivering violently but at least my muscles weren't so numbed by the cold as they had been.

I glanced over to the boy that I saved and saw something that made my insides freeze along with my skin.

_He wasn't breathing. _

Awkwardly I crawled over to him and pressed my head to his small chest. Listening for his heart. It was not longer beating.

_Quick_, I thought. _Maybe it's not too late._

I got on my knees my hands folded on his chest above his heart.

_One, two, three,_ I counted, pushing hard on his chest before counting once again.

_One, two, three. One, two, three_. The words echoed in my head. Each time I reached the number three I would start pushing on his chest.

_Don't die, kid. Please Don't die._

I counted, I pushed. I counted, I pushed. I counted, I pushed. While I did this, it seemed that too much time was passing by.

And just when I feared I was too late…

The boy started coughing and sputtering. Slowly he sat up shivering and coughing.

_He's alive_, I thought as a warm wave of relief passed though me.

It was then I realized that a small crowd had formed around me and the young boy. But that was not all, I could almost feel a pair of eyes on my face.

I looked up into the eyes of the cop I had feared would see me only moments before. My throat tightened, and my stomach churned as I saw the look of concern on his face he must have had for the child and I change to one of shock.

He recognized me. We both knew it.

I swallowed hard as I looked up to the older man. Faintly hearing his partner call for an ambulance and the people in the small crowd around us remark on how heroic I was for saving a child from the freezing water, while I knelt there by the coughing child, expecting the cop to arrest me for that… horrible thing I had done.

The cop took a deep breath, and I braced myself.

It seemed that I would be taken to jail before I ever got a chance to know why I had… killed that man.

Then the older man surprised me. He didn't start reading my rights, in fact he motioned with his head to the pathway out of the park. I let out an inaudible gasp.

Was he letting me… _go?_

I stood up, my gaze still directed to him questioningly. At that moment a cry was heard by someone outside the circle.

"Alan!"

"M-mommy?" The boy that I had saved said weakly still coughing a bit.

I stepped back as the boy's mother broke through the crowd, and almost threw herself onto her son. With most of the attention on the little boy I started walking past the small crowd, my eyes still fixed on the cop's. Still unsure.

Once I was a fair enough distance, he nodded, and I turned away. Trudging down the path.

It was hard to say then, and even now, why he didn't turn me in. Maybe he thought I was even. I had taken a life, and had given one back. Nothing really change for me. After all I still didn't know what had really happened last night, and I was still wanted for murder.

But when I left the park I knew I could look myself in the mirror without cringing.


End file.
